


The List

by kel_1970



Series: Invisible Minority [3]
Category: Emergency!
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 75,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kel_1970/pseuds/kel_1970
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This series started to fulfill a request for a PWP sequel to Cookouts and Campfires. I just couldn't leave it there, though. What it turned into was a little bit of everything. It's basically a partly happy, partly angsty romance. I wanted to explore a little bit about what it might have been like to be an invisible minority in an occupation where being that minority would likely meet with very little acceptance.  At the end, I realized things came out much too rosy for these guys, so I threw in some bumps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Item 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

**The List**

 

 **Item One**

 

 

 _Item One: “I wish I could turn the light on, and get a better look at every last bit of you.”_

 

Michael Stoker was sound asleep when his doorbell rang at six p.m. sharp on Friday evening. To say that he was running behind on his sleep after the three nights of Station 51’s A-shift’s camping trip would have been an understatement. Of course, it wasn’t the camping itself that was to blame for the deficit—it was the man at the door who was the culprit. The bell rang again, but Mike didn’t even stir.

“Shit,” John Gage muttered under his breath. “Maybe the doorbell doesn’t work.” He put his ear right on the door, and pressed the button a third time. **Brrrrrringgg**! _Nope, that’s not it_.

Johnny set his backpack down in front of the door, and went to peek in the garage window. Yep, the truck was in there all right. He went back to the front door, and leaned on the doorbell for several seconds. Nothing. _Okay,_ _ **now**_ _what_?

He absolutely was not going to give up and leave. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

He tried the door—unlocked. “Idiot,” he muttered, as he let himself in quietly. He took off his shoes, leaving them with the other larger pairs lined up by the door. “Mike?” he said quietly. Still nothing. He turned the corner to the living room, and discovered why nobody had come to answer the door.

Mike was lying on his back on his couch, in jeans and a black t-shirt. His right arm dangled down to the floor, his left arm was propped up on a pillow on his chest, and a newspaper covered his face. There were clear signs of life, since about every four seconds the newspaper rose slightly and then fell again. Each fall of the paper was accompanied by a gentle rumbling.

Johnny grinned at the sight, but decided not to wake Mike. After all, he knew how little sleep he himself had gotten over the last two nights, and knew perfectly well that on top of those two nights, Mike hadn’t slept the first night camping. After being dropped off late that morning by Cap after returning to town, Johnny had crashed like he’d pulled a double shift as soon as he’d had a shower and something to eat. But he’d set an alarm for five thirty, so he’d be sure to make it to Mike’s by six, as they’d arranged.

He decided to make some coffee. He took one last look at Mike, and padded into the kitchen to investigate.

Johnny had been to Mike’s house before, so he was not surprised at how neat and organized everything was in the kitchen. Mike had one of those new-fangled “Mister Coffee” automatic coffee makers, stupidly named but easy to use. He quickly found everything he needed to start a pot going.

As the coffee maker blurped away, Johnny grabbed a grocery bag out of his backpack, and removed two steaks, a head of iceberg lettuce, two tomatoes, a quart of ice cream, and a can of Hershey’s syrup from the grocery bag. He put the ice cream in the freezer, and everything else went into the fridge. He found two mugs with the LACoFD logo in the dish drainer, and poured coffee into them.

Johnny took the mugs into the living room. Stoker had coasters handy on every table, so Johnny set one mug on a coaster on a side table. He took the other mug over to the couch where Mike was lying. Silently, he knelt down about a foot away from Mike’s head, and gently blew a stream of air across the top of the mug, sending the aroma of coffee under the newspaper that covered Stoker’s face.

The previously inert body stirred slightly. An indistinct mumble emerged from under the newspaper. “Wha …?”

Johnny blew across the top of the mug once again, and Mike threw off the newspaper and sat up in one smooth movement.

“Oh! You’re here,” Mike said, not entirely awake.

“In the flesh,” Johnny agreed, as he handed the mug to Mike.

Mike took a sip. “Thanks. For  _ some _ reason, I’m a little sleepy.”

Johnny grabbed his own mug from the side table, and plopped down on the couch right next to Mike. “Want me to leave?” he asked, flashing his trademark grin. He sipped the black coffee.

“No fucking way, Johnny. Why the hell do you think I took a nap?” Mike swigged his coffee, trying to gain some alertness.

“Hope you don’t mind I let myself in—I rang the bell like five times, but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, well, you know me, sometimes the tones don’t even wake me up.”

It was true—it was a joke around the station that it was a good thing that Stoker drove the engine, because otherwise he’d get left behind sometime. The last one out of the dorm had the responsibility of making sure Mike had actually gotten out of his bunk when the engine was called out at night.

Mike finished his coffee, yawned, and stretched lopsidedly. “Ow,” he complained. “Can’t even stretch properly, dammit.”

“Here, lemme at it,” said Johnny. He pounced up onto the low back of the couch, straddling Mike’s shoulders. “Let’s start with that trapezius,” he said, working at the tight muscle between Mike’s neck and shoulder. “Yeah, that’s all knotty, ain’t it,” he remarked.

Mike tried to relax. Having Johnny’s hands on him, while extremely pleasant, was not exactly calming at this point.

“Deltoid, yep, good ‘n tense there, too.”

Mike yelped as Johnny kneaded a particularly sore spot.

“Sorry, that was a ligament under there, I think. Man, you’re a bundle of nerves, aren’t you?” Johnny teased. “Whatsa matter, don’t want me messing with you right now? Okay, all right,” he said, as he hopped down to sit on the couch normally. “I can take a hint. Maybe we should just go fire up the grill, get those steaks goin’, wash the lettuce, make a—”

Johnny’s ramblings were cut off quickly, as Mike pushed him down onto the couch and straddled him, pinning him down at the hips.

“Stop talking.”

Johnny managed to shut his mouth, just in time for Mike to cover it with his own. Their lips parted, but not for speech. Johnny encouraged Mike’s invasion, pulling him down closer to him, and making himself get lower on the couch so Mike could dominate him as he wished. Mike took the cue, and stretched himself out over Johnny, covering him completely. Johnny’s outside leg, not pinned between Mike and the couch, snaked around Mike to pull him down closer, tighter.

Johnny sighed as Mike released his mouth. Mike began working his way down the front of Johnny’s neck, finding the hollow where his collarbones met. His lips and tongue explored one side of Johnny’s neck, then the other, and found themselves on an earlobe. Mike’s teeth got a turn, gently nibbling on the lobe. He breathed into Johnny’s ear, and felt Johnny’s body arch up towards his. Mike switched to the other ear, and whispered into it. “My bedroom. Right now.”

“Don’t wanna move,” Johnny mumbled back.

“Too bad. I _do_ have neighbors, but I _don’t_ have curtains in my living room. And you’re gonna be naked in about five seconds. So move it.”

Johnny wriggled under Mike’s weight. “You gotta get off, first.”

“Oh, I promise, we’ll _both_ get off,” Mike said, as he removed his weight from Johnny and pulled him up off the couch with his good arm. He gently shoved Johnny down the hallway. “Room on the end,” he said.

Johnny and Mike practically ran down the tiled hallway into Mike’s bedroom. Mike slammed the door behind them, and pulled the blinds down as Johnny took those two second to look around. The room was done in dark earth tones, and there was a ceiling fan gently stirring the air. But Johnny was most interested in the king-sized bed that dominated the medium-sized room.

His attention returned to Mike. “Naked in five seconds, huh? You better get started, then,” said Johnny, as Mike got busy with the task.

“You and your god-damned button-down shirts,” growled Mike, as he worked his way down the frustrating fasteners and finally shucked the shirt off Johnny’s shoulders. He made short work of the t-shirt, and had little trouble with the jeans or boxers. Everything ended up in a heap in the corner.

“Mm, mm, mm,” said Mike. “Even better’n I thought.”

Mike spun him around, lightly brushing his body all over with his hands, as he checked out the complete, unwrapped package. Mike was very pleased indeed. The previous night, in Chet’s van, he’d been able to see only dimly. But now, in the fully lit room, he got a look at everything he’d missed the day before. Long, graceful limbs, smooth tea-colored skin, finely chiseled musculature, absolutely marvelous ass, and, to top it all off, standing smartly at attention, a cock that matched the rest of him beautifully, and looked perfect for everything Mike had planned for it.

Johnny was amused by the attention and inspection he was receiving. He was enjoying how uninhibited Mike could be in private, in the right circumstances. He was also keenly aware that their circumstances were, at the moment, unbalanced.

“Gettin’ a good eyeful, there, Stoker?” he asked.

“You bet. Anyone ever tell you how utterly hot you are?”

“Um, not quite so directly, but I’ll take it,” laughed Johnny. “But let’s play fair, here,” he continued, taking hold of the bottom of Mike’s t-shirt. He worked it out of from the waistband of Mike’s jeans, till his hands found skin. He slid his hands up the sides of Mike’s belly and chest, and the shirt slid up with his hands. Mike slipped his right arm and head out easily, and Johnny worked the t-shirt gently off Mike’s left arm.

Johnny’s hands found Mike’s lightly-haired chest, and rested on his pectoral muscles for a moment, before heading south.

“Ooh, button fly,” said Johnny. “Fun. Can’t see so good from up here, though,” he murmured. Mike inhaled sharply as Johnny’s tongue traced a cool line straight from Mike’s neck down to the waistband of his jeans, as Johnny knelt to see what he was doing.

“One,” whispered Johnny, undoing the top button. “Two,” he said, doing much more with his hands than was really necessary to get the button undone. “Three—gee, this is tricky.” His tongue traced the same path back up again, to find Mike’s neck. “Need a break,” said Johnny, nibbling gently up Mike’s neck before making his was to his mouth for a deep kiss. His hands stayed busy with the buttons. “Four,” he said around Mike’s lips, “and five.” Mike’s breathing picked up as Johnny slid the waistband down over his hips and let the heavy denim fall the rest of the way to the floor.

“Mm, just one layer to go,” said Johnny. He slid his warm hands around Mike’s waist, and under the elastic at the back of Mike’s boxers, and lightly caressed the two firm cheeks he found there. “Nice,” murmured Johnny, as Mike moaned softly. He worked the elastic down, starting from the back, and then pulling it out in the front so the elastic wouldn’t unduly disturb Mike’s erection. The boxers puddled onto the floor along with the denim jeans. Johnny helped Mike step out from the pile, and kicked Mike’s clothes into the corner with his own.

Johnny stepped ever so slightly back so he could get in his fair share of ogling. “Hot stuff, Stoker. Very hot stuff you’ve got there.”

“Item One: check!” said Stoker. “Not that I wanna stop lookin’, but Item Two is speaking to me, my friend. And you’re gonna need to be horizontal for how I have this planned.”

Johnny shivered in anticipation, remembering Mike’s threat in the van: “Item Two: make John Gage scream out loud, _without_ using any hands.”

 **TBC**


	2. Item 2

**The List**

 

 **Item 2**

 

 _Item Two: make John Gage scream out loud,_ without _using any hands._

Mike grabbed the bedspread, blanket, and topsheet and flung them off the foot of his bed, leaving just the pillows and the russet-brown sheet. Next thing he grabbed was Johnny, pulling him close, so their erections prodded each other’s bellies insistently. Mike kissed Johnny thoroughly, and pushed him gently towards the bed. As soon as Johnny’s legs ran into the mattress, he hauled Mike down over him, and they landed in a tangled heap, sideways across Mike’s bed.

Mike whispered into Johnny’s ear. “Do you remember what Item Two is?”

“Yeah, pretty tough to forget a threat like that...”

“Good. Now, I think this calls for a top-down approach,” Mike said into the other ear, “and a little less conversation.”

Voices were replaced by increasingly heavy breathing, as Mike’s lips, tongue, and teeth became the main communication tools. He worked his way down Johnny’s neck, confirming a strong carotid pulse on each side, before finding the magical hollow between the collarbones. He enjoyed hearing Johnny’s vocal reactions to each new sensitive spot he found—they’d had to be so quiet in the van, and Mike had really wanted to hear more from Johnny. A lot more.

Mike found Johnny’s completely hairless chest unbelievably attractive, and made sure he explored every bit of it, tracing the lines of each rib, each group of muscle fibers, and painting circles around each nipple before attending fully to each one separately and thoroughly.

He finished with the rib cage area—for the moment. When he got to Johnny’s belly, he paused at the long, curved scar that ran along the bottom of the left side of Johnny’s rib cage. Mike recalled the night that Johnny had been hit by a drunk driver, while walking back to the squad. He kissed every inch of the scar, carefully and gently, though he knew that such a long time after that emergency surgery, there would be no more pain. Still, he kissed away the memory of the pain.

Nobody at the station knew, but Mike had waited all night by the phone in the kitchen so he could be the one to answer when Roy called to say that Johnny had made it out of surgery.

But this was no time for sadness about an old injury. Mike shook off the memories of that night—there were more important and urgent projects to work on.

“Mm, now _this_ is a six-pack that is great when it’s warm,” Mike murmured, as he sampled each abdominal muscle. He was getting closer to his goal—closer to being able to do what he’d really wanted to do the night before. A straight, thin line of body hair—the first he’d encountered so far—pointed like an arrow to the musky curls below. He took in the scent, but didn’t linger there for too long.

Mike held Johnny firmly by the hips—hands had to be doing _something_ , after all—and at long last, his tongue-tip met the tip of its target, teasing away the drop of moisture that had appeared there. This one small contact elicited a sound from Johnny that was half sigh, half groan, but all pleasure. Mike smiled at the thought that they did not have to hold back at all. He wanted to hear more, do more, so he traced his tongue slowly around the edge of the dome of the splendid cock that was his to do with as he wished. Without hands, of course.

He retraced his steps with lips, and, ever so carefully, teeth. Trying for complete geometrical equality, he executed the same operations with length as he had with circumference. Each latitude and longitude, the equator, and the single pole—everything had to be explored.

Mike recalled with amusement how Johnny had declared in the van that their activities would definitely be discovered if Mike got his mouth anywhere near the cock it was now ready to devour. Johnny had been absolutely right in his self-evaluation. The sounds coming out of him now would not only have alerted their sleeping friends that something unexpected was happening in the van, but would likely have brought the park police in as well.

Mike adjusted the angle of his own body, so the next step would work just right. Finally, tongue spiraling along the way as far as it could, Mike’s mouth engulfed the entirety of Johnny’s erection, to the hilt.

“Uhhn … holy shit, Mike …”

Mike wasn’t sure if it was cheating, but he had to use his hands to hold Johnny at least somewhat still. Nah, not cheating—just safety precautions. Teeth could be dangerous with sudden movements.

Mike had Johnny completely deep-throated, and Johnny was simply beyond having any idea what was going on. Mike pulled back, to tease the head with lips and tongue again, and eased himself back down once more. And hoped he’d remembered to close his windows.

“Oh fuck … Mike, I can’t …”

And when Mike’s tongue probed out beyond his lips, below the base of Johnny’s cock, Item Two was accomplished. Loudly.

Mike brought himself back up to Johnny’s face level, applying gentle kisses and caresses as the receiver of his affections came to his senses again. It took a while.

Johnny managed to roll over to his side, and use an arm and a leg to pull Mike right up close to him. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and beginning to chill in the dry air.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. That was ... wow,” panted the sweatier of the two.

“Let’s just call that Item Two from now on,” said Mike.

 **TBC**


	3. Interlude: Dinner

The List

Interlude: Dinner

Mike had accomplished Item Two—in spades—and as soon as Johnny had come to his senses, he returned the favor with vigor and verve. Afterwards, the two lay together in Mike’s bed, letting time and the ceiling fan cool them down.

“Whew. For a minute there, I though this room was about to flash over,” said Mike.

“What, you mean it didn’t?” said Johnny, lazily playing his hand over Mike’s chest. “Let’s just forget about my shift tomorrow, and stay here all weekend.”

“Okay,” said Mike, reaching for the phone, “I’ll call Cap and tell him you’re—”

Mike didn’t get halfway to the bedside phone before he was tackled, horizontally, by a laughing Johnny. “You’ll tell him I’m _what_ , Mike?”

Mike didn’t miss a beat. “Hotter than an acetylene torch, a dynamo in the sack, and busy for the next five thousand years.”

“Great! That’ll all look impressive in my personnel file. I can write you a personal letter of reference, too.”

Mike swatted Johnny lightly, before rolling himself to completely cover Johnny. “Ouch,” he said. “Forgot the stupid shoulder.” He was going to complain some more, but was interrupted by a rumbling, which he could both hear and feel.

“Sorry—stomach,” said Johnny. “Maybe we oughta actually fire up that grill now.”

“Good plan. Wouldn’t want you to waste away. You are _always_ hungry, aren’t you?”

“Nah, only if it’s been an hour since I ate.”

Johnny watched Mike walk to the corner where their discarded clothing lay in a heap. “Yours, mine, yours, yours, mine, yours, mine.” Mike sorted the clothing into piles. He was about to hand Johnny a pile, but reconsidered. “Hmm, not sure if I actually wanna give these back to you.”

“Um, pretty sure those neighbors you were worried about earlier might not like barbeque in the buff. Plus, didn’t you ever read a fire safety manual of any kind?”

“Oh, all right,” Mike grumbled, handing Johnny his pile. Mike pulled on his boxers, and then his jeans.

“Wait!” blurted Johnny.

“What? What?” Mike asked, suddenly alarmed.

“You should advertise for those jeans. Just like that—no shirt, only half the buttons done on the fly—they’d sell a million pairs. Let’s get you an agent—you could make a million, and retire in style.”

Mike laughed. “You’re full of it, Gage.” He did up the rest of his buttons, and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

Once Mike was fully clothed, Johnny was able to peel his eyes away and get himself dressed. They headed for the kitchen.

“Mr. Coffee’s smelling a bit like firehouse brew at this point. Want any, or should I pitch it?” asked Mike.

“Oh, I’m not picky, but I do like my caffeine,” replied Johnny. He picked up the identical mugs from the counter. “Know which one’s which?”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Uh, if you’re worried about germs? It’s _way_ too late. Cooties, too.”

“Good point.” Johnny poured the remainders of the coffee into a randomly chosen mug, swigged some, and scowled. “Yep, just like Chet’s.”

Mike opened the fridge and took out the steaks. “Perfect. How ‘bout I get that grill started.”

“’kay. I’ll hack up the lettuce and tomatoes. Um, where’s a knife?”

Mike pointed to a magnetic rack on the kitchen wall.

“Heh, right in front of me. I guess I’m pretty good at missing things that are right under my nose,” Johnny said, shooting his crooked grin at Mike.

Mike grabbed a plate, headed out the sliding glass door to the deck, leaving the slider open, and down the steps to the gas grill, which, of course, was a nice, safe distance from the house and deck.

Johnny watched him the whole way, and finally turned his attention to the extremely boring lettuce. He doused it in a sinkful of water, along with the tomatoes, rinsed everything well, and set the vegetables in the dish drainer to drip.

Johnny went out to the deck to keep an eye on Mike, who looked like he had the grill under control. Just then, the phone rang.

“Uh, can you get that?” asked Mike.

“Sure.” Johnny hopped into the house, closing the screen door against the bugs, and picked up the phone.

“Stoker residence,” he answered.

“ _Uh, hello, this is Hank Stanley from Mike’s station. Is Mike around?_ ”

“Oh, hey Cap. It’s Johnny. He’s outside—lemme get ‘im.” He covered the receiver with his hand. “Hey Mike?” he yelled. “It’s Cap’n Stanley.”

“All right—tell him I’ll be right there.”

Neither man was worried that Johnny had answered the phone at Mike’s house. It was perfectly normal for the guys to hang out with each other on days off.

“Hey, Cap? He’ll be right there. Everything okay?”

“ _Sure, John—I was just calling to see if he needed a hand with anything. Should’ve asked when we dropped him off this morning, but I think everyone wanted to get home._ ” _Except you, apparently,_ Cap was thinking.

“Hang on, I’ll ask him. We’re prob’ly good, though. Hold on a sec—oh, here he is.” Mike had snuck in silently behind Johnny. Rather than simply handing the receiver to Mike, Johnny spun around Mike, wrapping the two of them up together in the cord. He handed the receiver to Mike, smiling innocently.

“ _Howdy, Stoker. Just calling to see if you needed a hand with anything—the missus reminded me I should have asked you when I dropped you off earlier._ ”

“Thanks, Cap—I think I’m good. Gage is here...”

“Duh,” mouthed Johnny silently.

“...and he can be pretty useful when he puts his mind to it.” That remark earned him a smack on the rear.

“ _Okay then—don’t hesitate to call if you need anything._ ” Johnny leaned closer to Mike, but couldn’t really make out what Cap was saying. 

“Thanks, Cap. And thanks for hanging out with the gang this week.”

“ _Well, except for that nasty rainstorm, it was pretty good, wasn’t it?_ ” replied Cap.

“Yeah, that rainstorm sure had some consequences, didn’t it,” said Mike, grinning widely, and earning himself another swat.

“ _Nothing serious or permanent, I hope,_ ” replied Cap. Johnny watched in dismay as Mike’s face fell. He could feel Mike’s body tense next to his—what had Cap said to upset him? “ _Well, I should let you go if everything’s under control_.”

“Okay, thanks—bye.” Mike unwound the cord from himself and Johnny, and replaced the receiver gently in the cradle. “Gotta go flip the steaks,” he said, not looking at Johnny as he slid out the door.

 _Whoa._

 _Okay. What just happened?_

Johnny wrestled with himself for a good minute, trying to decide whether it would be better to go out to Mike, or to let him come back in on his own. When he passed the time frame that was reasonable for flipping two steaks, he decided to take the initiative and go out and talk to Mike. _No pushing away. Not this time._

Johnny went out the slider, down the steps of the deck, and over to the grill. He stood next to Mike, and curled his toes in the grass, not saying anything, not yet. Not knowing how Mike would feel about a somewhat public display of affection—it _was_ his own backyard, but it was also dense suburbia—he didn’t reach out physically, and wasn’t sure that would’ve been the right thing anyhow. He was trying to decide what to say, when Mike spoke up.

“So I said the rainstorm had consequences, ha ha, right, and Cap said he hoped the consequences weren’t serious or permanent,” Mike said, still not looking at Johnny.

Johnny moved closer to Mike. “I’m kinda feeling like the consequences are pretty serious.”

“Serious like run away screaming, or serious like take off your coat and stay awhile?” asked Mike.

“Mike, I took my nice comfy protective coat off for you already day before yesterday, right after you took off yours, and I’m still here. Can’t say I haven’t been doing some screamin an’ yellin’, but it’s the good kind,” he added, to lighten the mood.

It worked.

Mike let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for minutes. “Okay. Sorry.”

“What, for being a worrywart?”

“Nah, I can’t help that, but I could’ve not pretty much run away out the door after hanging up the phone.” Mike flipped the steaks once more.

“You can make it up to me later,” Johnny said, with a crooked leer that nearly sent Mike running for a cold shower.

“Okay, these are done,” said Mike instead, flipping the steaks onto a plate and turning off the grill.

“Whoops, I never managed the salad,” said Johnny. “It’ll take ten seconds.” He dashed into the house, leaving Mike shaking his head and grinning.

Mike made his way up to the kitchen in a more controlled fashion, and calmly got out a bowl for Johnny to toss the shredded lettuce into, just in time. Johnny sliced up the tomatoes and tossed them in. “That should do it—enough vegetables to keep us from immediately dying of vitamin deficiency.”

“I’m impressed—you weren’t kidding when you said ten seconds. You’re really incredibly hyper, you know,” said Mike, as he grabbed a couple bottles of salad dressing from the fridge, and silverware from a drawer.

“Well, maybe you’ll be a good influence. I think you already are, actually—I took my shoes off when I came in, and lined them up neatly with yours, and I don’t _think_ I put my feet on your coffee table at all.”

Mike and Johnny sat at the bar in the kitchen rather than bothering with the table. “Yeah, well don’t get too prissy at the station, or people will wonder who you’ve been hanging out with.”

“And _you_ better not turn into a hyperactive motormouth,” said Johnny around a mouthful of steak. “This is real good, by the way.”

“Glad you like it,” said Mike. “And about that bit about people wondering who you’re hanging out with—you better keep hitting on all the nurses, you know.”

Johnny laughed out loud at that. “Shit, they all hate me already, and I think it’s maybe only one in ten tries that any of ‘em ever went out with me anyways. I could claim I’ve given up and nobody would doubt it.”

Mike looked cautiously at Johnny. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Lay it on me,” replied Johnny, stabbing a tomato.

“So, the girl chasing. Was it all cover, or were you actually chasing?”

“Nope, definitely chasing. Chased the boys, too, but not around here where anyone knew me. Saved that for Santa Barbara. So, I guess when I was sayin’ how I’m sittin’ on the fence, half straight half gay, well, that’s not really accurate. More like, I dunno, anything goes.”

“Okay. Kinda what I thought. Starting the other night, I mean.”

“How ‘bout you?” Johnny asked curiously. “I mean, I never guessed, but I also totally shut down the guy-interest on the job.”

“Uh, never been attracted to women, really. I do the shutdown thing too. Worked fine, till you came along.”

“Whoops, sorry!” Johnny said lightly.

“Don’t get me wrong—it’s not like I’ve been pining for you for years and years—you’re just reeeaaaaally hard not to notice.”

Johnny laughed. “Okay, I’ve got a small confession. Remember that time that fashion magazine did a photo shoot with a buncha models, and they decided I was no good? My very first thought was, ‘they oughta shoot Stoker—he’s the hottest one of all of us.’”

“God, I remember that—Roy was just appalled when they picked him. That was hilarious.” Mike pushed his plate away. “Well, that oughta avert starvation for at least an hour, right?” he said, looking slyly at Johnny.

“Stoker, you have a one-track mind! A guy’s gotta digest, right?” Johnny shook his head, grinning.

“All right,” Mike pretended to sigh heavily. “Digestion it is, then.”

Johnny laughed out loud. “Um, I was totally kidding, Stoker. Wanna wash the dishes, or get down to business?”

“Business,” said Mike, “Definitely business. ‘Cause one of us has to be up early tomorrow, and it ain’t me.”

“Well, that’s what caffeine is for.” Johnny cleared all the dishes from the bar and put them in the sink. “Okay, awkward question time. Can I stay over, or is that a no-no?”

Mike grinned. “I was hoping you’d stay. We should put the Rover in the other bay of the garage, though.”

“Or I could park it at the strip mall down the road, if you want,” offered Johnny. “Nosy neighbors, you know.”

“Nah, they’re not that bad. Plus, you’ll be on your way before half of ‘em are even having their coffee. Here, gimme your keys—I can park a car, but I can’t open the stupid garage. I never use that bay, so I don’t have an opener.”

“Keys are in my pocket—come and get ‘em,” Johnny invited.

Mike was instantly behind Johnny, and tried one back pocket. “Hm, no keys there. Nope, not that one either, but I sure do like what _is_ there,” he said, trying the other back pocket. He tried both the front pockets at once, reaching from behind and taking his time. “I do believe I’ve been fibbed to,” he murmured, over Johnny’s shoulder and right in his ear. He plucked Johnny’s wallet from one pocket and set it on the counter, and reached right back in. “Nope, no keys anywhere to be found.”

“I lied.” Johnny leaned his head back to better expose his neck to Mike’s attentions.

“Why’d you do _that_ , Gage?” whispered Mike.

“’Cause I didn’t want you to leave yet.”

“And why not?” Mike asked, hands busy in Johnny’s pockets.

“I wanted … uhhh …”

“What? What did you want, Johnny?” Mike whispered, as his hands made short work of the jeans’ button.

“ …um…”

The zipper’s teeth went “tick, tick, tick,” slowly, slowly, on their way down.

“I don’t think I’m gonna go park your Rover now, Johnny.”

 **TBC**


	4. Item 8

**The List**

 **Item 8**

“ _We’ll have to see what else those great hands can do, besides start IVs and shoot people up with morphine. Which was pretty useful, actually, at the time.”_

The Rover never got moved to the garage.

Johnny and Mike, however, got firmly parked in the bedroom. Clothes were left in a trail from the kitchen to Mike’s bedroom.

“Mmm, you feel great,” said Mike, running his hands gently and slowly over everything he could reach.

Johnny ran his hands through Mike’s hair, pulling his head down gently, so their mouths could meet. The early evening’s sense of urgency to have each other, to please each other, to be pleased by one another, had been superseded by a different flavor of desire—the desire to fully explore each other, to take their time with each other, finding all those places that caused shivers, gasps, and other small but meaningful sounds.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” Johnny murmured into Mike’s neck.

“I don’t want you to …”

“C’mere.” Mike stretched himself out on the bed, pulling Johnny over with him, and laying him on his belly, and running his hands up and down Johnny’s back, leaving them to dwell on his ass. “Yeah, so that’s why you always look so good in your uniform.”

“Why,” Johnny replied idly.

“Just that your ass is totally perfect, is all.”

“Yeah, but you’re the jeans model, remember? Half buttoned, no shirt, retire a millionaire? Mmm,” he continued, as Mike’s hands roamed anywhere they pleased, which happened to be everywhere.

Mike straddled Johnny and continued his explorations. Johnny had his head cradled in folded arms, and was just lying there, totally relaxed, and enjoying Mike’s attentions.

Mike’s lips found the hollow where a shoulder muscle ended, and worked their way across the trapezius to the back of Johnny’s neck. They paused there, counting up and down the cervical vertebrae one by one, and then continued over the other trapezius to the opposite shoulder. Mike rested his chin in the hollow of Johnny’s neck and shoulder, so their heads were side by side.

“God, I love being with you,” he whispered into Johnny’s ear. His lips and teeth got more vigorous in their pursuits.

“Yeah, Stoker,” murmured Johnny, “this is pretty good, ain’t it. Mmm, yeah—mark me up, just like that. Souvenirs to keep me happy on shift tomorrow.”

Mike flipped Johnny so he could leave some graffiti on Johnny’s front, and began working his way across the smooth chest he loved so much.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you hold still this long before,” Mike commented irrelevantly. He teased gently at one nipple, then the other.

“Yeah, well I don’t exactly have a lot of incentive to go anywhere right now,” Johnny replied lazily.

“No? Good. ‘Cause what I’d really like to do, is make love to you all night long. But, I know, you gotta get some sleep so you don’t kill anyone tomorrow, so I’ll settle for half the night,” Mike whispered.

“Don’t know if I can settle for just half,” said Johnny. “I can sleep when I’m dead, right?”

“Yeah, but let’s not have that be too soon, okay? Our line of work? You kind of need your full attention on the job, and you kinda hafta be at least sort of awake.” Mike nuzzled Johnny’s neck. “Besides, after the last few days, we’re both half asleep already.”

“And I have the perfect way to get us both all the way asleep,” said Johnny, arching up to heighten the growing friction between their bodies.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh,” said Johnny, hooking a leg around one of Mike’s to pull their bodies tightly together, “yeah.”

Over minutes, breaths became quick and heavy, bodies became slick with clean sweat.

“Goddammit!” Mike hissed abruptly, flopping over sideways on the bed.

Johnny froze, alarmed that maybe he’d done something wrong. “Sorry! What’d I do?”

“Not you. Fucking shoulder. Or _not_ fucking, as the case may be. Shit!”

“Well, let’s just get gravity out of the equation then.” Johnny pulled Mike to a sitting position, and the two ended up face to face, belly to belly, with Johnny practically in Mike’s lap, his legs wrapped around Mike’s body, pulling him in as close as possible. Johnny kissed away any lingering frustration with his mouth, while his hands brought their cocks together between them.

Johnny’s mouth released Mike’s, and he whispered right into Mike’s ear. “So you like my hands, huh?”

“Yeah, I sure do,” Mike murmured back.

“How ‘bout when they do this?”

“uh huh …” Mike practically panted.

Conversation became sporadic, but nonverbal communication was fluent. Johnny’s hands took the place of gravity, providing both friction and pressure.

“Oh, god, just like that, don’t ever stop.”

Mike practically lost it when he looked down to see those hands, the ones he’d dreamed of having on his body, pumping both their cocks together, their sensitive undersides rubbing together in just the right way. Mike reached down with a finger, and gently intermingled the droplets he found, circling their mixed fluids around the sensitive heads—the familiar, every-day one, and the much-fantasized-about highly coveted one.

“Ahhn, Mikey, yeah … oh man … I can’t … it’s too good …”

Johnny’s blathering and, of course, what he was doing with his hands, sent Mike over the edge. He came hard, and the sight of him finished Johnny off at nearly the same instant. They leaned their heads together, panting. Mike reached behind Johnny’s neck and pulled him in for a long, leisurely kiss, as their breathing settled.

Eventually, they untangled their limbs, and, deciding to save the shower for the morning, snuggled damply together under the sheets.

Johnny sighed contentedly.

“Hmm?” Mike inquired sleepily.

“I’m gonna really like waking up with you, and I’m gonna really hate walking out your door to go on shift.”

“Yeah. And yeah.”

“Come over to my place on Sunday,” suggested Johnny, with his last iota of alertness.

“Wouldn’t skip that for the world, love.” Mike pulled Johnny closer, and buried his face in his neck. They didn’t let go of each other all night, and there was no snoring, and no thrashing.

 **TBC**


	5. Shift

**The List**

 

**Shift**

 

Johnny parked his Rover in the lot behind the station. He realized he was actually early—no other A-shift cars were in the lot, except Cap’s Delta 88, and Cap was always in by 0730. Well, he could just claim he went to bed really early, on account of being so tired from the trip. In reality, though, Mike had woken him up nice and early—with emphasis on the “nice” part. Well, and the “early” part, too. But he wasn’t complaining.

The C-shift guys were still out on a run. Johnny looked at the call-station log, and saw it was a two-vehicle MVA with injuries, up on the 405, that they’d gotten called out for an hour ago. That could mean they’d be returning any time, or it could mean they’d be out for a while. 

Johnny decided to make coffee. Before Stoker got hurt, he was always the one to make the first pot, as he was often in around the same time Cap came in. He put the percolator on the stove, and headed to the locker room to get into uniform. 

It was handy to have the place to himself to change, given that some of the marks on his neck and torso might be embarrassing to explain. He had just gotten his uniform pants and his V-neck t-shirt on when Roy arrived. _Whew_.

Roy stopped short in the doorway of the locker room. “Hey, Junior. You sick or something?”

“Ha, ha. Nope, just on time for a change,” he said, buttoning up his light-blue shirt.

“Well, yeah. That’s why I asked if you were sick.”

“And a good morning to you, too, partner! Sheesh!” Johnny rolled his eyes and shook his head. “A guy turns over a new leaf, and everyone gives him the third degree!”

Roy rolled his eyes. “A new leaf, huh? This is gonna be an interesting day...”

“I doubt it, Roy. I doubt it very much,” said Johnny, thinking about his interesting night, and smiling hugely. “I think it’s going to be really, really dull.”

“Oh, boy,” said Roy. “Maniac alert.”

Johnny left Roy on his own in the locker room, and went to the kitchen to check on the coffee. It wasn’t quite done, but a watched pot never boils, so Johnny wandered out to the apparatus bay to start checking on the squad. Which, of course, wasn’t there, since it was out on a run.

 _Wow, Gage, mind on the job_ , Johnny thought. He walked past Cap’s always-open door on the way back to the kitchen.

“Gage, is that you?” asked a surprised Captain Stanley, looking up from the logbook. He was reading up on the run reports from the four days that A-shift had been off.

Johnny turned the corner sharply to the office. 

“Yeah, Cap, your eyes don’t deceive you—I’m early. Not quite sure what to do with myself, either. I already put the coffee on. Should be done—ya want some?”

“Sure, thanks.” Cap watched him in amusement. A cheerful Johnny always reminded him somehow of a cartoon character, but he couldn’t exactly say which one.

 _The Roadrunner?_ thought Cap. _No, that’s not it._

Johnny returned seconds later with Cap’s coffee. “Say, Cap, who’s on for Stoker today?”

“Ed Jackson again.”

Johnny harumphed.

“What?” asked Cap.

“Oh, nothing—he’s fine, just fine. He’s just kinda green, though, dontcha think?”

“Well of _course_ he’s green, John. You know perfectly well he just passed his engineer’s test, and is only subbing for Mike till an engineer’s slot opens up somewhere. What’s the problem? You didn’t have any complaints the last four weeks he’s been with us,” Cap said curiously. 

Johnny frowned. “Yeah, yeah; I know. But it’ll just be good to have the whole shift back together again.”

“True,” said Cap. “And on the topic, I was thinking it might be kinder to Jackson if we didn’t all spend the entire shift talking about how great the camping trip was, since, after all, he wasn’t there.”

“Good idea. I’ll be sure to stay off the high points,” Johnny replied, grinning.

Cap shook his head. “Boy, you’re in fine form this morning, Gage.”

“Can’t complain, Cap. Can’t complain. Hey, here come the other guys—see ya at roll call.” Johnny practically bounded out of the room. 

_Bugs Bunny? No, that’s not it either._ Though Cap did get a good mental laugh out of the image of John Gage, half-gnawed carrot in hand, leaning against the door frame of the office, saying, “Eh, what’s up, Cap?”

Johnny headed back to the kitchen to get his own coffee. He poured a mug, and sat with his polished boots on the kitchen table. His mind wandered to the previous night, and he grinned stupidly into his coffee. 

“Mornin’, Gage,” said Chet. 

“G’mornin’ Chet! How are ya?”

Chet stopped in his tracks and stared at Johnny. “What’re you in such a good mood for?”

Johnny tipped back his chair and sipped his coffee. “I dunno. Just a good day, I guess.” 

Chet poured himself a mug of coffee. He stood back and scrutinized Johnny. Just then, Marco, Jackson, and Roy wandered in, all looking not quite ready to face the day.

“What’s with him?” Chet asked Roy. 

Roy looked irritated. “What, am I his zookeeper? How should I know? I already asked him myself, and all I got was crazy talk.”

Marco got in the game as well. “I don’t know, guys, he looks awfully cheerful for someone who’s just getting back to work after a vacation.”

Chet squinted at Johnny suspiciously. He circled the table, inspecting Johnny from every angle. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and pointed at Johnny. “You _got_ some last night! That’s it! Friday night, hot date, right? That’s it, guys! Gage got laid!”

Johnny didn’t take the bait. He sat serenely, half smiling, feet still on the table, and sipped his coffee. 

“Well?” said Ed.

“Well what?” said Johnny.

“Did ya, or didn’t ya, you moron?” asked Chet. “Never mind, I know already. So who was she, Gage?”

“I’m not gonna bite, Chet,” Johnny said calmly. _At least, not gonna bite_ you.

“Wow,” said Roy. “Who are you, and what have you done with John Gage?”

“Roll call!” Cap hollered from the bay.

 _Saved by the bugles_ , thought Johnny. 

“I’ll get it out of you by the end of the shift, Johnny baby,” Chet promised. 

“Five bucks says you won’t,” said Ed.

“Oooh, Jackson, you are _on_!” replied Chet, as the men slid into line in the apparatus bay.

“For the record, Jackson? Betting with Chet is never as fun as it seems like it’s gonna be,” said Johnny. “Something always gets turned around. But this time? I can tell you you’re safe on that bet.”

“All right, what are you twits betting about this time?” asked Cap. 

“Uh, nothing, Cap,” said Chet, not really wanting to explain his theory about Johnny’s uncharacteristic behavior.

“Yeah, on second thought—I don’t really wanna know anyhow,” said Cap. “All right. Roy, John—you’ve got dorms and latrines. Work it out. Chet—I’m afraid for all of us that it’s your turn to cook. Don’t make fish or chili, and that’s an order. Jackson, you and Marco are on apparatus bay cleaning for now, then hang hoses when the engine gets back. After chores, we’re going to go over some new trouble areas in our district—plenty of bad inspection reports coming in. Lots of morons out there. Dismissed.”

Roy and John were often assigned dorms and latrines together. Their routine was to work on dorms first, then move on to cleaning the bathroom. They headed to the dorms to start changing the linens.

Roy opened the obvious topic right away. “So, you’re really serious—you’re actually not gonna say anything about your date, are you?”

Johnny grinned, and flung the linens off the first bed. “Who said I had a date? _I_ didn’t say I had a date—Chet did.”

“And the really weird thing is,” Roy continued, as if Johnny hadn’t said a thing, “the whole camping trip, you never _once_ mentioned you had a big date the night we got back. Now _that’s_ not like you at all. In fact, I seem to remember you complaining about some long list of stuff you had to get done. _That_ didn’t sound like a date.”

“Well, maybe it’s nothing like that at all,” said Johnny. He threw some sheets onto the growing heap in the middle of the dorm. “Maybe I just won a million bucks in the lottery. Did _that_ ever occur to you?”

“No,” Roy replied instantly, “because (a), you’re too smart to play the lottery, and don’t _ever_ try to get me to admit I just said that, ‘cause I’ll deny it till the day I die, and (b), if you’d just come into a pile of money, you’d be blabbing _that_ all over the station for sure.”

They worked in silence—not anger, just silence—for a few minutes.

“Geez, I hope you didn’t just pick up some girl from a bar or something,” Roy nagged. 

Johnny sighed, and plopped a pillow onto a bed. “Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“Let it be. Please.” Johnny looked at him seriously—no sarcasm, no jokes, no smirking; just a simple “please.”

Roy gaped at Johnny. _My goofy, juvenile partner just made a mature, reasonable request_. “Okay,” he replied softly. “But whatever’s got you so out of character—it’s a _good_ thing, though, right?”

“Yeah, Roy,” Johnny said dreamily. “Best thing that’s come along ever, I think. And I don’t wanna wreck it.”

“Okay …” Roy was bursting with curiosity, but respected Johnny’s request to leave the topic alone.

“But Roy? Punch me in the arm if I’m daydreaming on the job, ‘kay?”

Roy chuckled. “That’s a promise, partner.”

“And I’m gonna be black and blue by the end of this shift,” Johnny lamented, “’cause man, I think I am really, totally in l—um … gonna have a lot on my mind,” he amended.

 _And the curiosity is going to_ _ **kill**_ _me_ , thought Roy. 

~!~!~!~

“SQUAD 51, UNKNOWN TYPE RESCUE, 11784 HARGREAVES, 1-1-7-8-4 HARGREAVES, CROSS STREET ALISON, TIME OUT: 0920.”

“Squad 51, KMG 365,” responded Roy from the call station. 

It was the first run of the shift. Roy and John had gotten all their chores done, and the engine had also not yet been called out, so the firehouse was in good shape for the day. Roy slipped into the driver’s seat of the squad, followed shortly by Johnny. 

“Unknown type rescue, huh,” said Johnny, as they pulled out. “I hate these—ya never know if it’s gonna be someone with a, I dunno, a comb stuck in their hair, or something serious.”

“Yeah,” shouted Roy over the siren, “but you know all our weirdest runs are the ‘unknown’ ones.”

They arrived at the address, and found that it was odd but not hazardous.

“Back this way,” said the woman who met them on the street. “I’m really sorry to call you out for this, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

They arrived at the back of the house, to discover a man on a stepladder, with his hand apparently stuck in a window. 

“What happened?” asked Johnny.

“I was trying to take the screen out—you have to sort of bend it and pop it out—but it popped back in the track with my pinky finger still in there. I feel ridiculous, but I’m totally stuck. Every time I try to bend the screen, it feels like it’s gonna cut my pinky right off.”

Johnny and Roy looked at each other, sure they were thinking the same thing.

“Well, sir, I think the only way to work this is going to be to cut through the frame of the screen. With that pinky filling up the track, there’s just no room to bend it any farther,” said Roy.

“Yeah, I figured. I can’t feel a thing in that pinky, by the way, so don’t worry about whether it’s going to hurt or not. Just get me outta here, please, so I can go crawl away in embarrassment.”

“Oh, believe me, sir, you have nothing to worry about. We’ve seen much more embarrassing things than this—getting stuck doing a household project is perfectly understandable,” said Johnny.

“Johnny, I’m thinking we can do this with bolt cutters—the frame isn’t all that thick. If we have to, we could use a hacksaw, but I bet the cutters will do it.” 

Johnny ran to the squad to get the bolt cutters. 

“Um, what are bolt cutters?” asked the nervous man.

“Well, they’re kind of like heavy-duty scissors with really long handles to get good leverage. We use them on all sorts of things—combination locks, wire fences, whatever,” said Roy, reassuringly.

Johnny trotted over with the bolt cutters. “Ma’am, could I do this from inside the house? It would be a little awkward to have both of us on that stepladder.”

“Oh, certainly. Come right this way.” She led him inside the house, through to the bedroom that contained the window in question.

Johnny inspected the screen and its frame, and stopped when he saw a pin sticking out from part of the frame. “Uh, Roy? Take a look at this,” he said, pointing to the pin.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Roy said.

“Yep—looks like a quick-release to me. Let’s give it a go.”

Johnny pulled the pin, and sure enough, the entire screen’s frame collapsed, freeing the man instantly.

“Good grief,” he said, shaking out his pinky. “That pin was right under my nose, and I totally missed it. Now I feel even stupider than before.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” said Roy. “It’s definitely easy to overlook things that are right under your nose, especially if you aren’t looking for the right thing, or if you don’t even know to look.”

 _And ain’t that the truth_ , thought Johnny, as they packed up their gear and headed back to the squad. They climbed back in the squad, and called in as heading to Rampart for supplies, as the C-shift had not had time to restock since their run was at the end of the shift. 

Johnny wrote the run report while Roy was driving, and had it completed before they even arrived at Rampart. He was in the habit of muttering to himself as he completed reports, so Roy ignored his mumbling as he completed the form.

Once Johnny had put the triplicate form back inside the compartment of the forms clipboard, though, Roy tuned in again, even though it seemed like Johnny was still talking to himself.

“Right under my nose. Hot damn!” He grinned to himself, drumming on the dash of the squad. 

“Well, we did get him out pretty easily, Johnny.”

“Huh?”

“The victim?” reminded Roy.

“What _are_ you talking about, Roy?” Johnny asked impatiently.

 _Oh, boy. La-la land time._ “Never mind, Johnny; never mind.”

They arrived at Rampart to resupply. Dixie was on shift at the ER nurses’ station.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said. “How was your camping trip?” 

“Oh, just fine, Dix, thanks for asking,” said Roy, as he poured coffee for himself and Johnny.

Johnny goggled at him. “Just fine? Are you joking? It was amazing! There was this great swimming hole, and we had campfires every night, and we caught tons of fish, and it was just perfect!”

“We had some rain here in L.A. – did you get bothered by any of that?” asked Dixie.

“Nah, it wasn’t a problem at all. Kind of nice, actually,” Johnny said, grinning.

Roy rolled his eyes. “We all got soaked, except Gage and Stoker, who were bunking in Chet’s van.”

Dixie looked thoughtful. “Stoker … he’s the one who dislocated his shoulder at that brush fire a few weeks ago, right? Tall fellow, gorgeous blue eyes, talks a lot?”

“Um, Dix, he’s the quiet one at the station,” said Johnny. “But the rest you got just right.” _Yeah, those eyes. Mm-hm._

“No, I must be thinking of someone else,” said Dixie. “This guy was impossible to shut up. He talked nonstop when Kel and I were taking out the cactus spines. He just thought the whole thing was really funny, and he kept wanting to see if you would come in and help, Johnny. We had to explain to him about ten times that you and Roy were out on a run.”

“No, that was Stoker, all right,” said Roy. “He hardly ever says a thing, but as soon as that MS hit his system, he was totally motormouthing.”

Johnny giggled, nearly choking on his coffee, remembering what Mike had told him about his ambulance ride with Roy. “Man, I wish I coulda seen _that_!”

“Junior, take it from me: sometimes it’s better just to miss things like that,” said Roy.

“Well, whatever, Roy. Look, I’m gonna go grab some food from the cafeteria—I’m starved. You mind packing up the supplies? I’ll grab you something too if you want,” said Johnny.

“Sure, go ahead. I don’t need anything from the cafeteria, though.”

Johnny trotted down the hallway, as Roy started going through the supplies list and filling a box.

“ _What_ is going on with _him?”_ asked Dixie, curiously. 

“Search me, Dix. He’s been acting goofy all morning. He won’t say a thing, but station speculation is that he had a _really_ hot date last night. Funny thing is, though, that he didn’t say anything during the _whole_ trip about having a hot date lined up for when we got back. And not only will he not say a thing about it, but he asked me maturely and politely to let it be.”

Dixie smiled. “Well, maybe our little boy is growing up.”

Roy snorted. “That’ll be the day. He’s gonna be chasing skirts till they go out of style.”

Roy hushed up as Johnny came around the corner, carrying two wrapped cheeseburgers and a large chocolate shake. 

“Um, Johnny? It’s ten in the morning,” said Roy. “That looks like lunch, to me.”

“So? I was up early, so my stomach says it’s lunch time.” 

“Early. See?” Roy said to Dixie. 

“Well, I’m gonna stay out of this, and let you boys get back to work,” said Dixie, signing off on the supplies form. _Yep, something definitely going on, there._

Johnny and Roy hopped back in the squad. “Squad 51, available and returning to quarters,” Johnny called in on the radio. He unwrapped one of the burgers, and started chowing down, silently. Every so often, he stopped chewing and smiled to himself, staring off into space.

Roy just couldn’t help himself. “So, you got plans with … whoever … tomorrow?”

Johnny’s face lit up. “Yeah, Roy, I do. We’ve got the whole day.”

“Hm, so you’ll probably miss the game on TV in the afternoon then. That’s all right – I’ll fill you in.”

“Nah, we talked about it last night—I’m pretty sure we’ll catch it. Three o’clock kickoff, right?”

Roy’s mind boggled. “Man, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten Joanne to watch a game for more than five minutes. How’d you end up with this incredibly hot date who likes football, too? Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, Roy, that’s a good word. Not really sure I believe it myself.” Johnny finished his mid-morning lunch on the way back to the station, silently, but looking very pleased with himself.

~!~!~!~

As soon as Johnny and Roy returned to the station, Chet practically yanked Roy into Cap’s office. 

“So?” Chet demanded.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘so?’” asked Roy.

“Didja get anything out of him, or not, DeSoto?”

Roy sighed. “Give it up, Kelly. He’s not talking. _And_ he’s being an adult about it. So just forget it, all right?”

“Fine, fine,” grumbled Kelly. “I’ll just have to drag it outta him myself, then.”

Roy frowned at Chet. “Chet, I think this is really not a good thing to needle him about, okay? Can you possibly lay off?”

Chet shook his head. “No way, DeSoto. I’ve got five bucks riding on this, with Jackson, remember?”

Roy reached into his hip pocket for his wallet. “I’ll give you five bucks to let it drop. Then you lose the bet graciously, and that’s the end of it, all right?”

“Ten bucks,” Chet said instantly.

“Uh uh, you leech. Five. And this is a favor to you, really, ‘cause you’re gonna lose either way.”

“All right, all right,” said Chet. “Fork it over.”

Roy passed him a crisp fiver, just as Captain Stanley walked in.

“Out, Kelly,” he said, already having divined who the instigator was of … whatever this was.

“Yessir, Cap,” said Kelly, “just heading to work on lunch.”

The two older members of the shift watched Kelly leave the office. 

“DeSoto, what the hell is going on in my station this morning?” Cap asked. 

Roy looked at him sheepishly. “Well, Gage was acting weird, so Chet decided Johnny’d had a really hot date last night, and has been needling him the whole morning. Chet bet Jackson five bucks that he’d make Johnny spill his guts before the end of the shift, so I was just paying Chet off so he’d quit bugging Johnny.”

Cap considered this, and considered where he knew Johnny had been the previous evening. Of course, being at Stoker’s at seven thirty didn’t preclude a later date, but it didn’t seem very likely, either. Besides, Gage hadn’t said a thing about having a date planned for the night after the camping trip, and _that_ certainly wasn’t like him.

“Well, I think he’s just playing with you guys,” said Cap. “I don’t think he went anywhere last night.”

“I dunno, Cap; he’s been acting awfully goofy all morning. Plus, he was in _early_. Nobody’s _ever_ in early, except you and Stoker.”

“Gage? Goofy? Now that’s not really all that unusual, you know,” Cap replied.

“Yeah, Cap, but you should’ve seen him during chores. He kept stopping what he was doing, staring off into space, grinning like an idiot. Not his normal ‘goofy,’ which is talking a mile a minute about some crazy plan or idea or another.”

“Well, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of his work, let’s just appreciate the silence, shall we?” said Cap.

“Amen to that, Cap.”

“STATION 51, MOTOR VEHICLE ACCIDENT, WITH INJURIES, 405 SOUTHBOUND AT ALAMEDA. TIME OUT: 1123.”

“So much for silence,” said Roy, running out to the squad.

Johnny was already in his seat in the squad, ready to roll. They arrived at the scene within three minutes. The accident involved two vehicles, both with several occupants. Only one person, luckily, had sustained serious injuries—the driver of one of the cars had a severed artery that was spurting blood alarmingly. Roy dealt with that man swiftly, while Johnny assisted and then checked over the other occupants. Roy rode in with the victim in the ambulance, while Johnny followed in the squad. 

Johnny arrived at the hospital, and was met by Dixie at the nurses’ station. 

“Roy said to tell you he’s grabbing a shower and a change of clothes. He got pretty gory,” said Dixie.

“Yeah, Dix—I was there. How’s the guy doing?”

“Oh, the vascular surgeon’s got him upstairs already, and we’re transfusing him as we speak, so he’ll probably do just fine. Good thing you guys got there as soon as you did, though.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Too bad more people don’t know basic first aid, too. He was just sittin’ there, spurting away, when we got there. A little direct pressure would’ve done him a world of good.”

“Mm hm,” said Dix. 

“Hey, Dix, I’ll be in the lounge, okay? Gotta make a phone call,” Johnny said suddenly.

“Okay, I’ll send Roy your way.”

Johnny turned the corner to the staff lounge, and was disappointed to see that there were several staff in the room. There went his chance for a brief chat with Mike. He settled for a cup of stale lounge coffee, and sat on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, and his mind immediately went elsewhere. People came and went from the lounge, but the faraway look in Johnny’s eyes, and the slight smile, and the hint of a blush—they were constant. Roy found him this way after emerging clean and unbloodied from the staff locker room, where all the paramedics kept a change of uniform for occasions such as this.

Roy sat down on the couch next to Johnny, just to see what would happen. Nothing. He got up again, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat next to his junior partner once more. Still nothing. Roy watched in amusement as Johnny closed his eyes, still smiling to himself. 

Roy decided to try a wicked little experiment.

“Johnny,” he whispered, as quietly as he could.

“Mm hmm?” Johnny replied languidly, eyes still closed.

 _Good grief._ Roy decided it was perhaps not prudent to continue this experiment. He took the now-cold cup of coffee from his partner’s hand, and placed it on the table. 

“Squad 51, available,” Roy said loudly into the radio, right next to Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes snapped open. “Uh, hey Roy.” He blushed deeply. “Um, did you say something before?”

“Not a thing,” Roy lied innocently.

“Uh, did I say anything back to you when you didn’t say anything?”

 _Now that’s more like the Johnny I know_. “Here we go, more crazy talk … c’mon, let’s go back to the station for lunch.”

~!~!~!~

The rest of the daylight hours of the shift were mercifully light. The engine got called out for a dumpster fire, the squad had a possible heart attack, and the whole station had a run that turned out to be a false alarm. Captain Stanley went over all the new trouble spots in their district. After dinner, Johnny was exhausted from cumulative sleep deprivation, so he decided to turn in early. He tucked his boots into the legs of his turnout pants, and carried the bundle over to the dorm area. 

He was about to pass the desk, with the lamp and the phone, and stopped. _Why not_ , he thought. The rest of the guys were watching a movie on TV, so he had the dorm to himself. He closed the door between the dorm and the apparatus bay, set his gear down next to the desk, and dialed Mike’s number.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey, it’s Johnny.”

“ _Hi! Watcha doin’_?”

“Turning in early. For some reason, I can hardly stay awake.”

Mike laughed softly over the line. “Yeah, me neither.”

Easy silence.

“ _I wanted to talk to you all day, but I was pretty sure it’d be stupid to call the station and ask for you,_ ” said Mike.

“Yeah, this is the first chance I had to call.”

“ _Lemme guess: everyone’s watching the Saturday Night Movie, and you’re sitting at the desk in the dorms, in your shorts and t-shirt, and your boots and pants are right where someone will trip over them if they come through the door._ ”

Johnny looked at where he’d put his gear, and laughed—Mike was spot on. He stretched the phone cord to grab the bundle of gear and pull it out of the doorway. “Yep. You’ve got my number.”

“ _How’s the shift so far_?”

“Okay—busy enough, but nothing too grim. Roy got bled all over by a gusher, but the guy’s gonna make it.”

“ _Bleah—good thing I wasn’t there._ ”

“Hey, Dixie asked after you. Referred to your “gorgeous blue eyes” and asked if you were the one who talks all the time.”

Mike laughed. “ _Yeah, I think I talked nonstop the whole time she and the doc were pulling those cactus spines._ ”

Johnny decided not to go into the details about the guys’ bets on what was making him so happy. He sat watching the dorm doorway, to make sure nobody was in earshot. “Yeah, I remember that afternoon—Roy was acting really weird after we brought you and Cap in. He let me check on Cap, but practically tackled me to keep me out of the treatment room you were in, till we finally got called back to the brush fire.”

Mike laughed. “ _Well, I was completely high, and I’d just pretty much told him I had a huge crush on you, so I think he thought he was doing us a favor._ ”

“Yeah, prob’ly.”

“ _So … I’ve been doing my fair share of daydreaming today, Gage. Lady behind me in the supermarket ran her cart right into me when I stopped dead in the aisle. All your fault, of course. You holdin’ up okay?_ ”

“Heh. Roy just thinks I’m acting bizarre, but, well, he’s right, and he’s not needling me about it or anything. Chet thinks I had a hot date, but I just told him to lay off. Everyone’s ignoring him.”

“ _And did you?_ ”

“Did I what?”

“ _Have a hot date?_ ”

“Never hotter, babe.” Through the glass pane in the door, Johnny saw a figure approaching the dorms. Roy. “Um, it looks like Roy wants a turn with the phone—I gotta go.”

“ _Okay. Before you turn in, though, one last thing—be sure to think about everything we did last night, and this morning, ‘cause tomorrow morning when you come off shift? I’m gonna be waiting for you in your bed, and we have some things we have to catch up on._ ”

Chills ran down Johnny’s spine, and, due to the law of conservation of energy, heat had to be created somewhere to balance the chills. And of course, it headed due south. Johnny felt himself harden instantly.

“Oh, great, thanks a lot. Now I have to go get a cold shower,” Johnny grinned. He almost hoped Roy heard that last bit.

“ _Enjoy! See you in the morning_.”

“’kay. Don’t worry if I’m late; you know how these things go.”

“ _Come back safe_ ,” Mike said quietly.

“I will. Bye.” And with that, Johnny hung up the phone, carried his gear strategically in front of him, and headed for the shower. “All yours, Roy.”

“Thanks—where ya goin’, Junior? I thought you were done in.”

“Just grabbing a shower before I turn in.” Johnny made a hasty exit.

_Uh huh, and I’ll bet there’ll be plenty of hot water left when you’re done, too._ Roy shook his head, grinning, and picked up the phone to make his nightly call to Joanne.

~!~!~!~

At lights out, the other five crew members found Johnny sound asleep, with bright orange earplugs shutting out the noise of the movie they’d been watching. 

“Aaw, lookit Gage, sleepin’ like a baby,” said Chet. “That just brings out the Phantom in a big way. Whaddaya think, Marco? Bungee cord him to the bed? Hand in warm water?”

Johnny chose that moment to roll over, hug his pillow to his chest, and mutter something unintelligible to it, smiling in his sleep.

Chet sputtered, trying to contain his laughter. “Oh, man! This is priceless! I’ve just gotta know who that pillow is!”

“Kelly!” warned Cap. “What are you, twelve? Bunk! Now!”

“Yes, Cap, whatever you say, Cap.” Kelly reluctantly trundled off to his bed.

The night was quiet—until the tones sounded at 0345.

“SQUAD 51, POSSIBLE HEART CASE, 1245 8th STREET, 1-2-4-5 8th STREET. CROSS STREET MAPLE. TIME OUT: 0347.”

Johnny and Roy jumped into their pants and boots, and headed to the squad for their jackets. 

“This time of night, it’s probably the real thing, ain’t it,” yawned Johnny, as they arrived at their destination and unloaded their equipment.

“Yeah, that’s how it tends to be,” agreed Roy.

Sure enough, their patient was a middle-aged, obese man, who had been up all night with what he had convinced his wife was heartburn, until she was awoken—fortunately—by the sound of him collapsing in the bathroom. 

The team of paramedics made quick work of stabilizing their patient, and Johnny rode in with him to the hospital as Roy brought the squad in. They transferred their patient to the care of Joe Morton, and headed back to the station at nearly 0500.

“Man, this is like my least favorite time to get a call,” complained Johnny. “It’s too early to just get up and stay up, but too late to get any real sleep till the morning wake-up call.”

“Well, at least we had a quiet night. Personally, I’m just gonna stay up.”

“Yeah,” sighed Johnny, “I guess I will too. Besides, I went to bed so early I actually got a half-decent amount of sleep anyhow.” _For a change_.

Roy grinned, but kept his eyes on the road. “You sure did have a lot to say to your pillow last night,” he commented mischievously. 

_Uh-oh._ “Uh, what’d I say?” _Hopefully no names..._

“Oh, nothing I could really understand, but it sure sounded like you were having good dreams.” Roy glanced over at his partner, and was amused by the pinkish tinge to his face.

“Well,” Johnny said, “you know. Date and all. Kinda hard to not think about it.”

“So you have the whole day today, huh? What’s the plan?”

Johnny grinned. “Oh, there might be someone at my place already when I get home after shift … let’s put it that way.”

“Wow,” said Roy. “You did the whole key thing already?”

“Yep,” Johnny said smugly. “We exchanged keys this morning. And now, Roy, I am completely done talking about this. Finito.”

“All right, all right,” said Roy. “I’ll just have to wait, won’t I?”

“Patience, Roy; patience,” Johnny said serenely.

“That’s a fine thing, coming from you, partner.”

“Live and learn, Roy.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP! “SQUAD 51, MAN INJURED IN FALL. 2358 DUMONT, 2-3-5-8 DUMONT, CROSS STREET PARKER. TIME OUT: 0513.”

“I guess fate has decided we will in fact stay awake. Take a left here, Roy.”

The patient turned out to be an elderly man who had tripped over his equally elderly dog’s leash when taking the hound out for an early morning walk. It appeared the man had broken his hip, so it took some time to stabilize him and make him comfortable enough to transport. 

They resupplied at Rampart, got some free coffee, and headed back to the station by 0630. 

“Hey, let’s stop somewhere and get breakfast for the guys,” said Johnny. “There’s jack diddly in the station to eat, and I for one am starved.”

“Sure—we could grab some donuts and rolls at the bakery down the road from the station,” said Roy. Something had really come over Johnny—thinking of other people’s stomachs instead of just his own.

They did their errand, and arrived at the station just in time to hear Chet complaining about how there was nothing decent for breakfast.

“Have no fear, Gage is here!” announced Johnny, plunking two boxes of bakery goods onto the table in the day room.

Everyone stared at him, jaws agape. Johnny unselfconsciously grabbed a danish from the box, poured himself a glass of milk, and sat down at the table. 

“What’s the catch?” asked Chet, eyeing the donuts and pastries suspiciously.

Captain Stanley eyed the entire situation suspiciously. Every man on this shift had been acting oddly the entire shift. Except Jackson, who he didn’t know well enough to judge.

“The catch is, Chet, that there _is_ no catch. Unless you count whoever’s snared my young partner, here,” said Roy, working on a cinnamon roll.

“What in the world are you all going on about?” said Cap, who had not been privy to the teasing and betting about Gage’s Friday night endeavors.

Chet couldn’t resist it, though. “Oh, Gage had some reaaallly hot date on Friday night, and he’s been acting totally goofy all day.”

“What are you talking about, Chet? He didn’t have a date, right Gage? He was at …” Cap stopped suddenly, as he noticed Johnny suddenly get a deer-in-the-headlights look. 

Johnny had forgotten, until just then, that Cap had called Mike’s house late in the evening, and that Johnny himself had answered the phone. 

_Oh. Click. Click._ The wheels turned in Cap’s head. _Oh. My. Word._

“He was at what, Cap?” prodded Chet.

Cap looked at Johnny, who looked like he was about to throw up. He had been tipping his chair back on two legs, but froze mid-tip.

“He was at the park with all of us all week, and he never said anything about a date. He’s just messing with you guys.” Cap grabbed a danish and fled to his office. “Four on the floor, Gage,” he said, just to say something normal on his way out.

Johnny obeyed Cap’s instructions, thunking the front legs of his chair back to the floor. It was a relief to be on solid ground, actually. But everyone had turned to look at him. 

“Good work, Gage. You really had me going,” said Chet. “You should consider a career in acting.”

Marco and Jackson slapped Johnny on the back, thinking he’d really pulled a good one on Chet.

Roy didn’t say anything at all. 

**TBC**


	6. Sunday: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe things aren't going to be so easy after all.

**The List**

**Sunday: Part 1**

B-shift began arriving as the A-shift crew were still sitting around the day-room table working on the boxes of breakfast pastries Johnny and Roy had brought in.

“Hey, Rollins! You live pretty near Hollywood—got any extra Oscars kicking around?” Chet asked, as B-shift’s engineer walked in. 

“The hell are you talking about, Kelly?” Rollins grabbed a donut and sat down, as three other B-shift guys walked in and sat down.

Chet waved a roll at Johnny. “Gage here just pulled a shift-long gag on us—acting like he had a smokin’ hot date Friday night, but not sayin’ a thing about it the whole shift. I could have _sworn_ he had that just-got-laid look yesterday morning, but it turns out it was all a hoax.”

“How do you know it was a hoax?” Rollins asked reasonably. “Maybe that’s all part of the gag too,” he continued, as if Johnny were not sitting right there.

“Nah,” said Chet. “Cap set us straight. Ya know we were all camping for our four days off? Well, Cap reminded us that Gage didn’t say one word about a hot date for Friday night. Can you imagine John Gage _not_ running off at the mouth about some hot chick he had lined up for the night after the camping trip? I mean, c’mon!”

Rollins looked dubiously at Johnny. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said around a mouthful of donut. “Still, he could’ve picked a girl up at a club or something, and then got lucky.”

Chet beamed at this thought. “That’s IT! That _must_ be it! ‘Cause let me tell you, Rollins, this boy here _definitely_ got some Friday night, and probably yesterday morning too. I don’t think anyone’s _that_ good an actor.”

Johnny sighed. He plopped his half-eaten (but fourth) pastry on his paper napkin, rolled it up, and chucked the whole mess in the garbage. “You guys are a bunch of infants,” he said, as he headed to the locker room. “It’s 0800. I’m outta here.”

The four B-shift firemen, plus Chet, instantly turned to Roy. 

“Well?” asked Rollins.

“Gage is right. You’re infants.” 

“Oh, lighten up, DeSoto. You dealt with him the whole shift—whaddaya think?”

“I think,” said Roy, “that it’s none of our business.” He slid his chair back. “Have a safe shift.” Roy headed to the locker room, where he found Johnny already in his civvies. 

“Didn’t say a thing,” said Roy. “Have a great day.”

“You better believe it, Roy. You too. And thanks for not playing their stupid game.”

Johnny headed out to the parking lot, and stood by the Rover. 

_Cap_. 

Cap knew he was at Stoker’s yesterday evening. Cap decided not to say that to the guys.

Either Cap was trying not to get sucked into the games, or … _shit_.

Johnny had an idea. He threw his bag into the Rover, and headed back into the station, through the front door that led straight to the shared Captains’ office. The door was open. Captain Stanley was just on his way out. 

“Hey Cap. Thanks for not playing along with the guys’ stupid game. They were all needling me the whole shift, and I was getting pretty sick of it.” _There. Suspicions neither confirmed, denied, nor acknowledged, but rescue appreciated._

“No problem, Gage. Bunch of twits, aren’t they?”

“Nah, just Kelly, really. I don’t know what gets into him sometimes,” said Johnny.

“Well, what we do in our time off is none of anybody else’s business. If a guy doesn’t want to blab, I can respect that.” _Though it’s killing me to not ask you if what I_ think _is going on is actually going on_.

“Yeah. Well, thanks anyhow.” Johnny cleared his throat. “You got plans with the family today?”

They continued their conversation as they headed out to the parking lot.

“Oh, I think we’re all just gonna hang around the house. The girls were complaining that I took off for four days and then went right back to work, and everyone at home is tired and cranky, so no, no plans. How ‘bout yourself?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do today either, Cap. Just hang around, I think, since we’re back on shift on Monday again.” 

“All right. Well, have a good one. See you tomorrow,” said Cap, folding his lanky frame into the Delta 88.

Johnny sat down in the drivers’ seat of the Rover, and mentally set the shift’s stresses aside. It was time to go home. And, Mike was going to be there when he got home.

Johnny made a quick grocery stop on the way—a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, cold cuts, and he remembered Stoker drank orange juice, so he picked some of that up as well, since it was never something he kept around. Coffee, beer, ice cream, cookies—all the staples. 

He was home by 8:45. Johnny grinned when he saw Mike’s pickup truck in a parking space marked “visitor.” He grabbed his duffel and the two bags of groceries, and dashed up the stairs to the outside corridor that his apartment door opened onto. He set down the bags, but before he could fit his key in the lock, the door opened. 

“Hoped that might be you taking the stairs two at a time. Here, lemme get one of those.” Mike hoisted a grocery bag with his good arm, and set it down in the hall. Johnny dropped his duffel and the other grocery bag next to it.

Johnny stepped toward Mike in the narrow foyer, till they were so close their toes touched. Johnny suddenly drew in a deep, gasping breath, almost like a sob, and pulled Mike’s face to his, and kissed him soundly. Mike responded instantly to Johnny’s need, pulling him close and holding him tightly. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he whispered. 

“I’m just … really glad to see you.”

“Bad shift?” Mike stroked Johnny’s hair, and added a quick, gentle kiss to the first one.

“No,” said Johnny, “pretty tame, actually. But, well, I guess I was pretty loopy—I mean, that was _quite_ a sendoff you gave me yesterday, Mike—and Kelly made a big deal about how I looked like I’d just gotten laid, and he pretty much needled me the whole shift.”

“Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he?” Mike pulled Johnny into the sparse living room and sat him on the couch. “So what’d you do?”

“I took an inscrutability lesson from you, and I didn’t play his game.”

“And DeSoto?” Mike knew that Roy and Johnny were close, and read each others’ moods—and sometimes, it seemed, minds—easily. 

“Oh, we made a deal. He wasn’t allowed to keep asking, but he _was_ allowed to punch me in the arm if I was drifting off.” Johnny grinned. “I think he hit me about fifty times.” He rubbed his shoulder in memory of all the slugs Roy laid on him. “Hey, what’d you do yesterday?”

“As little as possible,” Mike admitted. “Grocery store, of course. Mostly laid around reading, with a heating pad on my shoulder. It’s a lot better today—I guess _maybe_ I was overusing it the last few days.” 

“Glad it’s better—you see Brackett tomorrow, right?”

“Yep—0900.”

“Good. He’s a hard-ass, but he’s the best.” Johnny’s look shifted to mock-suspicious. “Hey,” he said, “weren’t you supposed to be in my bed when I got here?”

“Well,” Mike admitted, “I kinda thought I’d get you fed first, and see how that shift was—maybe you were up all night and would need to just go straight to sleep, ya know.”

“Hmm,” said Johnny, “it was a quiet night, but it _has_ been almost an hour since station breakfast. Did you eat yet?” 

“Nope—waiting for you.”

They carried the groceries into the small kitchen area, and started unloading them. Johnny put the non-perishables in the cabinets, and then put all the cold things in the fridge, except for the chocolate ice cream, which he left out on the counter. He rummaged in a cabinet and brought out a box of Wheaties.

“Seriously?” Mike asked, eyeing the ice cream with raised eyebrows.

“What?” Johnny said, getting out two bowls. “Breakfast of Champions.”

“With _chocolate ice cream_? I don’t think that’s what Bruce Jenner had in mind...”

Johnny shrugged. “Well, Brackett and Early are always on my case to gain some weight, you know, like for insurance, so that’s my favorite breakfast these days.”

Mike patted his own midriff. “Well, I’ve got a few pounds and _quite_ a few years on you, so forgive me if I just go for cereal and milk.”

Johnny grabbed the milk out of the fridge and passed it to Mike. “You don’t have all that many years on me, do you?”

“Yeah, Johnny, ‘fraid I do. Hit thirty-three last month.”

“So? That’s not much older than me.”

“Um, aren’t you like twenty-five? And I only guess _that_ high because we’ve been at the same station for six years, and you weren’t a boot, so you must’ve been at least twenty when the station opened.”

Johnny laughed. “Sorry, Mike, but I just hit the big three-oh in May.”

“You’re shitting me,” Mike declared confidently, fully expecting the remark to be the beginning of a Gage-special put-on.

“Nope.” Johnny fished his wallet out of his pocket, and handed Mike his driver’s license. 

“Fuck me!” exclaimed Mike as he examined the document.

“Okay—after breakfast though.” Johnny grinned and crunched his ice cream concoction contentedly.

“No, I mean—yes! But, you don’t look a day over twenty.” He looked Johnny over suspiciously. “You didn’t lie to get into fire academy early, did you? This is your _real_ date of birth?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, dug into his wallet again, and produced a much-folded photocopy. “Here. A copy of my birth certificate. Nobody ever believes me, so I carry this around too.” 

Mike shook his head. “And here I thought I was robbing the cradle. Oh well—who cares.” He worked on his cereal, standing in the kitchen. “Cap must know your actual age, though, right?”

“Yeah,” said Johnny around a mouthful of ice cream cereal. “Why do you think he’s always hollerin’ at me to act my age?”

As Mike handed back the documents, Johnny continued. “And that’s why Roy calls me ‘Junior’ – it’s kind of a joke, since when we first met each other he started calling me that, and then when he realized I was only a couple months younger than him, and did this priceless apology, and, well, I just thought it was funny, so I said he oughta keep callin’ me that for a laugh.”

“I kinda wondered why you let him get away with that.” Mike finished his cereal and put his bowl in the sink. “So, any other secrets I need to know about?”

Johnny pretended to think. “Nope—a bit older than I look, door swings both ways, I turn into a werewolf every full moon—I think we covered all the bases. How ‘bout you?”

Mike had to laugh. “Well, you already know pretty much the only one there is. You, and Roy, and Serena, and her girlfriend—a very exclusive club.”

Johnny added his bowl to the sink, turned on the hot water, and quickly washed up the breakfast dishes, as Mike dried them and put them away. He handed the towel to Johnny so he could dry off his hands. 

“How can you look so hot just doing dishes?” Stoker said admiringly.

“Practice, Mike. Lots and lots of practice,” Johnny replied. “But, when you put it _that_ way, maybe I _won’t_ try to get better at cards so I can get out of KP at the station.”

Breakfast was eaten, dishes were done, and there they were. They’d talked about meeting at Johnny’s place in the morning, but hadn’t really made plans for the day. 

“So, what’re your plans for the day, _Gage_?” Mike asked, grinning and leaning Johnny back against the fridge.

“Well, _Stoker_ , first I would like to see you in my bedroom for a very private conference. After that? I dunno. It’s kind of a crummy day for the beach, and the game’s not till three, and I’m an apartment-dweller so there’s nothing to build or destroy or anything fun like that...”

Mike pinned Johnny up against the fridge. “I only heard one word out of all that. Bedroom.”

“That’s one of my favorite words these days,” Johnny agreed.

Mike eased his weight off Johnny so he could un-plaster himself from the fridge. “Now show me to your conference room.”

Johnny took Mike’s hand and pulled him around the corner to the small bedroom. “It’s not as nice as yours,” said Johnny, “but I think it’ll get the job done.”

“I think I wanna get _you_ done,” said Mike, reaching around to grab Johnny’s ass and pull him close. Johnny planted a lanky leg behind one of Mike’s, and at the same time, found the bottom of Mike’s t-shirt and hauled it up. Mike cooperatively let go of his prize just long enough help shuck the shirt, but growled when he realized he had buttons to work on again.

“Buttons, so fucking many buttons, here just to frustrate me,” he grumbled, working blindly on the task at hand as Johnny distracted him by tracing lines up and down the muscles along Mike’s spine. As he completed his task, he threw the flannel shirt across the room, and made short work of the V-neck t-shirt underneath.

Mike stopped short. “Ooooops,” he said sheepishly, seeing for the first time the marks he had left the last time they were together. 

“’s okay,” said Johnny. He slid his hands around to the front of Mike’s jeans, and quickly divested Mike of his denim and his boxers. “Yep,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Even better than I was imagining all shift.” Johnny ran his palms over Mike’s chest, catching Mike’s nipples with his thumbs and working on them for a while, as his lips kissed trails along Mike’s collarbones and shoulders. 

“Promise I won’t mark you up for Brackett to see,” said Johnny. 

“Well then, some other time,” Mike replied. “Off, _off!”_ he continued, wrestling with Johnny’s too-tight jeans. He finally peeled them off, with some assistance from their owner, who was just as eager to have them removed. “Good god damn, Gage, I think I re-dislocated my shoulder just getting you out of your britches.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Johnny, examining the anatomy in question closely.

“Well, you could at least quit with the button-downs. I mean—”

“Stoker?”

“Well, it’s true! Honest to god, who still wears—”

“Shush!”

~!~!~!~

A delicious ninety minutes later, a wide-awake Mike gently held a quietly sleeping Johnny. _Too much coffee this morning_ , thought Mike, _and no matter how easy your night calls were, Johnny, you still had ‘em_. 

They were spooned together, with Mike taking the part of the protective “big spoon,” good arm tucked under and not-so-great left arm held closely to the sleeper’s chest. While Mike held onto his sleeping lover, Mike’s caffeinated mind mused on his time with Johnny. Even though they were about the same age, and about the same size—Johnny had an inch or two of height on Mike, but Mike was a bit heavier—there was something that Mike couldn’t quite put a name to, that made him feel protective towards Johnny. 

This feeling was unexpected and a bit confusing to Mike. As a rescue man, Johnny was probably a good deal stronger than Mike; and as a paramedic, Johnny dealt with difficult calls every shift, and always came through strong. 

But still, in their current relationship—whatever it was—it seemed to Mike that Johnny gave out tiny and subtle signs of … insecurity, Mike supposed, that were unexpected and somehow endearing. Like now, for instance—as Johnny dozed off, he was the one who had pulled Mike’s arm over him, and had snuggled himself against Mike. And, during their lovemaking, while Johnny was neither shy nor inexperienced, he did seem to “check in” with Mike far more often than past lovers had—frequent returns to eye contact, holding hands, and a variety of small touches that seemed designed to provide connection rather than stimulation. 

Mike had first noticed these subtleties as a pattern Friday night at his own house, and had thought about the pattern during the long day on Saturday. He had experimented this morning with intentionally providing these reassurances without Johnny always having to seek them out. And Mike wasn’t sure, but he thought that Johnny seemed more relaxed, more willing to take things slowly—when, of course, that was desirable—and, well, happier. Not that he’d seemed unhappy about any of the, um, proceedings.

As Mike was thinking, Johnny stirred and mumbled, and pulled Mike’s arm more tightly around him, clutching it to his chest. Mike responded by scissoring a leg over Johnny’s, drawing him in more closely. Johnny sighed, and his breathing once again became deep and regular.

And there it was again. Johnny wasn’t purposely giving him any signs of weakness or insecurity—he was asleep, for crying out loud—but that protective instinct had kicked in again, and Mike felt like he would be perfectly happy spending the rest of the day just holding Johnny, keeping him safe while he slept. 

And then it hit him. 

_Oh._

_Shit._

_Now I’ve done it. I’ve gone and fallen in love with my gorgeous, no-strings-wanted, skirt-chasing, commitment-avoidant shift-mate._

_Fuck._

They’d both said, back at the campground, that they didn’t want this—whatever the hell “this” was—to be over when they got back to L.A. They’d both said, before they’d really let anything happen, that they “cared” —whatever _that_ meant. Mike had sort of thought it meant that, well, they acknowledged that if they did anything stupid or selfish, a friendship would be mightily screwed up, and shifts would be awkward.

But this, what Mike was thinking about now, was surely not what Johnny had meant. 

_I’ll let him sleep_ , thought Mike, _and then I’ll explain why I have to go. Calmly, like an adult. And then I’ll go home and bawl my eyes out. You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Stoker._

**TBC**


	7. Sunday: Part II

**The List**

**Sunday: Part 2**

Mike let Johnny sleep, and contemplated what he’d gotten himself into, and would now have to get himself out of. It was nearly 11:30, and he personally wouldn’t want to sleep any later than noon on a day where he had a shift the next morning, so Mike was contemplating waking Johnny up. The idea of staying in the bed, though appealing, was becoming unrealistic, as Mike’s bladder kept reminding him. Finally, he quietly extricated himself from Johnny’s clutches, and made it to the bathroom without waking Johnny.

After finishing his necessary business, he decided he might as well get dressed. He really needed a shower, but, after all, if he was throwing himself out, he ought to be ready to go. He quietly found all his items of clothing where they lay in the bedroom, and put them on. He briefly thought about just leaving a note and fleeing, but no, if you’re dumping someone because you’re falling for them and that’s not what they want—hell, no matter _why_ you’re dumping someone you actually like—that’s not how to do it.

Mike had brought the morning paper, so he sat in the living room and tried to read it. He got nowhere. Coffee? No, too addled already. With great maturity, Mike decided just to sit and brood.

_I should probably put in for a transfer now,_ he thought. _It might even go through by the time I’m certified fit for duty. Yep—won’t even have to say anything to Cap other than that the commute is killing me, what with gas prices the way they are. That new guy who’s been filling in for me will be happy to be permanent. And what with the Captain’s exams coming up soon, there oughta be plenty of vacancies for engineers in the near future. No problem._

Mike’s preferred brooding posture was elbows on knees, head in hands. _Very pathetic looking,_ he thought, _but who cares. That’s the way it is. Pathetic._

And that’s how Johnny found him, when he emerged, bleary-eyed, clad in boxers but with nothing else back on. 

“Hey, there you are. For a minute I almost thought you took off.” Johnny sat down next to Mike on the saggy, second-hand couch. 

Mike didn’t look up. “I almost did take off,’ he said, head still in hands.

Johnny froze. “What?”

“I said, I almost did take off.” Mike finally looked up.

“Why? I mean, what’d I do? I mean … I don’t know what I mean.” Johnny looked intently at Mike, but didn’t reach out physically.

“Johnny, you’re—I’m—well, you … I don’t think we want the same things.”

Johnny remained silent, not sure what to add or ask. He just wanted to hear Mike out, but he had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming. _And here I thought things were going great for a change._

Mike summoned his courage. “I know we both said we care about what happens, which I guess means we don’t want to make any trouble, don’t want things to get awkward—at least I think that’s what we both said—so, I guess, to not let it get awkward, I better just go.”

Johnny sat still. _Yep, that’s what I thought was coming_. He sighed, and looked away. “Every time, Mike. This happens _every_ _single_ _time_. When I start to pull someone towards me instead of pushing them away, it turns out that’s not what they want, and then that’s it—they’re outta here.”

He went on, not making eye contact, so not noticing Mike’s gaping jaw. His fists were clenched so tightly on the couch cushions that his knuckles were going gray. “Honestly, I didn’t think the same thing would happen with you—that wasn’t the feeling I was getting from you. I thought maybe—just _maybe_ —this time I could fall in love with someone, and they would—”

“ _What?!?”_ Mike interrupted. 

_Great, now I’ve really done it. Note to self: don’t say the “L” word when you’re getting dumped._ “Sorry, Mike, but that’s how it is.” Johnny looked up, finally, and was shocked to see Mike grinning like a pig in a trough of slop. Mike began to chuckle, and within seconds, was on the floor, howling with laughter.

_O … kay …_

“Geez, Mike, you don’t have to laugh at me. I’m feeling pathetic enough already.” Johnny shook his head in disgust. 

“Oh … my … god,” Stoker managed, between giggles and howls. He reached out and grabbed Johnny’s foot, which was the only part he could reach for any kind of support.

Johnny peered askance at the maniacal figure on his living room floor.

“I bare my soul, and you think it’s _funny_?” Johnny practically shouted.

Realizing he’d totally lost it, and was on the verge of completely screwing everything up even worse than he already had, Mike put every ounce of his being into pulling himself together. He still couldn’t get off the floor, but at least stopped laughing. “Fuck, Johnny, I was ready to run off because _I_ was falling in love with _you_ , and I didn’t think that was up your alley.”

Silence. The scowl slowly disappeared from a certain paramedic’s face. “Seriously?”

“Like ice cream and Wheaties—unbelievable, but totally for real.”

Johnny reached down to pull Mike up off the floor and haul him back up to the sofa. He didn’t let Mike’s hand go, though. “Ya know, you just about gave me a heart attack,” he complained. “When did I start sending mixed messages, anyhow? Honest to god, Stoker, where’d I give you the wrong idea?”

Stoker sat silently, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. Johnny sat patiently, holding Mike’s hand in both his own, as Mike tried to reconstruct his train-wreck of thought.

“Um. Nowhere?” Mike concluded tentatively.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Okey dokey, then, how’d this near-disaster happen?”

“Uh, caffeine and brooding, not talking, uh, anxiety-prone brain—put ‘em together and you get Mr. Insecurity, I guess.” Mike looked down at their intertwined hands. “I was just lying there with you, holding you while you were sleeping, and thinking about how great everything was, and then these teensy little ‘uh-ohs’ started creeping in.”

“We can _always_ talk,” Johnny insisted. “ _Always_.”

“Nuh-uh, you were _sleeping_ ,” protested Mike. “I’m not gonna bug you every time my anxiety lobe starts working overtime! That would be completely cra—” 

“Reasonable,” Johnny finished for him. “It would be completely _reasonable_ , Mike. If you’re circling the drain, and I’m not rappelling down the side of a building, or up to my elbows in someone’s guts, or dragging someone out of a room that’s about to flash over, you _talk_ to me, all right? And if I _am_ doing any of those things? You talk to me in five minutes. Deal?”

“Deal,” Mike said meekly.

“Good. ‘Cause I just can’t _stand_ the not talking stuff. I mean, you remember that girl Valerie, a few years back, where I was thinking about proposing to her, and then it turned out she had these kids she’d never said diddly squat about? I can’t _take_ that stuff, man. Shit hiding in the closet, waiting to pounce out at ya in the middle of the night? Can’t take it.”

“Well, then, I’ll do my best not to dish it out. I promise: there’s no pouncing shit in my closet—just me in there, and you already know that part. And, I’ll try, _really_ try hard, not to clam up.”

“Great. Are we cool?” asked Johnny, picking up Mike’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“We’re cool.” Mike finally smiled a little. “Well, at least I have a backup plan for life. If I ever bomb out of the department, I could get a job as an insecurity guard.”

Johnny shook his head, smiling. “Where _do_ you come up with this crap?”

“Well, my mom always said she thought I had a whole extra lobe in my brain, dedicated exclusively to worrying and brooding,” said Mike.

“I know a good neurosurgeon,” Johnny said seriously. “Maybe you should have it removed.” 

“Wish I could, Johnny. Wish I could.” Mike leaned his head on Johnny’s bare shoulder. 

They sat that way for a good couple of minutes, heads together, holding hands, till Mike broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Johnny twisted so he was on his knees on the couch, straddling Mike’s hips. He took Mike’s face in his hands. “It’s okay. But don’t,” he kissed Mike’s forehead, “ever,” one eyebrow, “ever,” the other eyebrow, “Do. That. Again.” And Johnny lingered at Mike’s lips for long enough that Mike was sure he was forgiven completely.

“So, in the spirit of total honesty?” Mike began.

“Uh huh?” Johnny said warily.

“We reek.”

“Item Seventeen, Mikey,” Johnny grinned. “Shower time.”

“Awesome,” said Mike. “Most guys just have a honey-do list, but we’ve got a honey-do-me list. Sure hope you’ve got a good hot water heater, Gage.”

**TBC**


	8. Item 17: Shower (Sunday, Part III)

**The List**

**Item 17: Shower (Sunday, Part 3)**

Warm water sheeted down Mike’s back as he cupped Johnny’s face in his hands and kissed him hungrily, their lips bruising each other as they came together for more, and more, and still more. Their bodies were pressed together tightly, Johnny’s hands locked onto Mike’s hips, pulling him in as closely as possible. The soapy water trapped between them provided the perfect, delicate balance between slickness and friction. Johnny was completely pinned against the wall, leaving Mike in charge of movement. 

Mike had Johnny exactly where he wanted him—he watched Johnny’s eyes, the dark-brown irises practically taken over by sex-blown pupils. He listened to the incoherent but oh-so-hot combination of panted syllables, breathy groans. He felt the slick, hard smoothness of every part of Johnny’s body that he could reach; smelled both their musky scents carried by the steam of the shower; and savored the taste of Johnny’s mouth with each kiss.

Mike felt every muscle in Johnny’s body go rigid, watched his eyes roll back, and felt the pulsing of a new fluid joining the water and soap between them. Mike thrust his hips once more, partly to keep Johnny from falling over, and partly to give himself the last push he needed to come, with a choked-up shout.

They stood panting together, gravity starting to take its toll, as the water’s temperature inched downwards. Unlike the frog in the pot of hot water who did not realize he was gradually getting boiled, Mike and Johnny could not ignore the falling temperature. Mike peeled himself off Johnny, and quickly rinsed them both down, just as the warmth petered out completely. Mike shut the water off abruptly, and winced at the sound of the water hammering in the pipes. “Whoops,” he apologized.

“Guhn …” was all Johnny could think to say.

They stayed there long enough to be sure that they wouldn’t fall down when they tried to move, which unfortunately was also long enough for them to get chilled. Mike grabbed the single towel hanging in the bathroom, and rubbed Johnny down briskly. As Johnny gradually came to his senses, he lurched to the tiny closet in the bathroom, yanked out a beach towel, and threw it around Mike. 

Mike smiled. “Didn’t this all start with me being all cold and drippy?”

“Sure did,” replied Johnny, “Except now I can be sensible, and drag you right into my bed and warm you right up.” He pulled Mike in that direction, threw the covers aside, and, with very little effort, got Stoker in bed with him again.

Mike laughed. “You’re gonna hafta settle for a cuddle, babe, ‘cause after that shower action? There’s no way I’m gettin’ it up again for _hours_. And on that topic: I don’t care _what_ your driver’s license says; your dick doesn’t think it’s thirty. More like seventeen.”

Johnny hauled the covers over both of them, and spooned himself against Mike’s back. “Trust me—this time I’m done in. Nothin’s happening in that department for a while.” He let his non-trapped hand play lazily through Mike’s chest hair.

“And I give you five minutes before you announce you’re starving,” murmured Mike.

“Nuh-uh, gotta get you warmed up first. Plus I’m all groggy and stuff. Might fall asleep … prob’ly shouldn’t, though. Gotta be able to sleep tonight …” Johnny’s breathing became even and deep. 

Johnny suddenly twitched violently, just once, startling the living daylights out of Mike. But Johnny just pulled Mike more closely to him, and settled back to sleep. 

For the second time that morning, Mike found himself wide awake with Johnny sound asleep next to him. This time, Johnny was wrapped around him, holding him close. And it was great. It was a secure, safe feeling, and the anxiety demons were far away. 

~!~!~!~

After half an hour or so, Mike realized he shouldn’t let Johnny sleep too long—it was well after noon, and he’d already had one nap that morning. This time, though, he would stay with him, wake him gently, and be there as he woke up. Mike gently lifted Johnny’s arm, and rolled to face him. He winced as his bad shoulder complained with a quiet popping sound, but got himself into a position where he could plant gentle kisses on Johnny’s forehead, cheeks, and finally, lips. He combed through Johnny’s still-damp hair with his fingers, and was rewarded with the fluttering of those lush eyelashes, and finally got to look into those chocolatey eyes, as they opened slightly, closed again, and then re-opened. 

“Hey, sleepy,” said Mike. “Almost one o’clock.”

“Mm, yeah, better get up,” mumbled Johnny. “Awful nice right here, though.” His eyes drooped again.

“Uh-uh, no you don’t,” said Mike. “C’mon. Let’s get you fed.”

“Oh, yeah! Starving!” The thought of food got him more alert. He swung his legs out of bed, but then stopped and reversed course, rolling back next to Mike again. “But first...” he kissed Mike soundly, twining their hands together, and pulled back again. “Good morning!”

Mike laughed. “Okay, I’ll take it, even though it’s one p.m.” He watched as Johnny got out of bed for real this time. “Mm, nice scenery going by here, he commented as Johnny headed to his dresser, and put on boxers, socks, and jeans.

“And special for you,” said Johnny, digging through a drawer, “aha! No buttons.” He displayed a long-sleeve t-shirt before putting it on. 

“ _Thank_ you,” Mike said in mock-relief. “I was starting to think you didn’t own any shirts without buttons.” He stretched, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack in his shoulder.

“Hey, look at that!” said Johnny. 

“Uh, what?” asked Mike.

“You just stretched, and your arms were pretty much even!”

“Huh,” said Mike, feeling his left shoulder with his other hand, as he experimentally lifted his bad arm again. “Funny, I’ve been hearing these little cracking sounds—didn’t really hurt, just kinda popped.”

“Well, let’s get some aspirin in you with lunch just in case, but it sounds like things are looking up, Stoker.” Johnny popped the shirt over his head, and went to inspect the joint in question. “Doesn’t look swollen or anything, that’s good, and—here, do this,” he ordered, raising and lowering his own arm like a bird flapping a wing. Mike imitated, wincing slightly at the end of the range of motion.

“Wow, Mike, that’s really a lot better than even a coupla days ago.”

Mike grinned. “Yep. Magical shower sex.”

Johnny snorted. “Maybe don’t go spouting that theory to Brackett or the PT department.”

“Nuh-uh, then they’d want a piece of you too, and I’m not sharing.”

A rumble from Gage’s stomach put an end to that line of conversation. 

“Either we just had an earthquake, or we better find you some lunch,” said Mike, finding his clothes and starting to dress. “Got anything edible?”

“Sandwich stuff,” said Johnny. “Let’s have at it.” 

“After the way you make your cereal, I’m dying to see what you put in a sandwich,” Mike joked, as they hit the kitchen. 

Johnny hauled out a loaf of whole-wheat bread, and grabbed the whole “deli drawer” from the fridge.

“Okay, so I’m dying to see what you _don’t_ put in a sandwich,” Mike said warily, eyeing the contents of the drawer: ham, turkey, salami, three kinds of cheese, sliced pickles, a jar of olives, a jar of horseradish, mayonnaise, mustard, and a jar of … something brown. _No_ , he decided, _black_. Some tomatoes, a head of lettuce. 

“Relax, Mike, you don’t have to use everything all at once. Just pick and choose. I just don’t like to get bored with my sandwiches, which is a challenge when that’s pretty much what I make.”

“Yeah, that and Breakfast of Champions,” Mike laughed. “I’m just glad to see you don’t have that Wonderbread crap. They shouldn’t even be allowed to call that paste ‘bread.’”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “makes good bait if you roll it up, but that’s about it.” He grabbed some plates from the cabinet and set one down in front of each of them. “Plus, I had a call once where a little kid stuffed a whole piece in his mouth at once, and choked on it. Man, he was in full arrest by the time me and Roy got it out of him. He made it, but with brain damage. So I boycott the stuff.”

“Wow. I can’t top that—I was just thinking about how it _tastes_ lousy.” Mike watched, fascinated, as Johnny plopped three pieces of bread on his own plate. Horseradish on one slice, mayo on another, and a very thin layer of the … black stuff on the third.

“Okay, I give up—what is that stuff?” Mike asked.

“Marmite.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Okay, help me out here, Gage.” 

“It’s, well, I don’t exactly what it is. Remember that English fireman, Jason Channing, who spent a week with us a couple years ago? He got me hooked on this stuff. It’s, well, here, try it.” He broke off a piece of the slice of bread that he’d spread the Marmite on, and held it out to Mike, who eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s got all sorts of vitamins, but it’s really intense, so you spread it real thin,” Johnny explained. “Go on, try it. It’s not gonna kill you.”

Mike nibbled a corner, and made a puzzled face. He tried a larger piece, and smiled. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “ _That’s_ what it is!”

“Huh?”

Mike laughed—he loved that befuddled crooked-eyebrows expression. “Okay, so sometimes after a run that’s taken you to Rampart, you and Roy stop in here at your place for lunch, if you missed chow time, or if Chet’s cooking or something, right?”

“Yeah...?” 

“And when you come back, your breath sometimes has this smell—not bad, you know, but I just _noticed_ it, all quiet like—and I could never figure out what it was, but that’s _it_!” 

“Well, I’m happy to have solved a mystery for you,” said Johnny, shaking his head. “So, you want any on your sandwich?”

“Uh-uh,” said Mike, “I think we’ll just keep that special for you. It’s not bad—weird, but not bad—but, well, it’s more _you_ than _me_.” Mike proceeded to build a very traditional ham and cheese sandwich on his plate. 

Johnny added some ham and cheese to one of the slices, then placed the second slice on, and added turkey, pickles, and tomato on top of that, and topped it off with the Marmite bread. He pressed the whole thing down to compress it to an edible height, put the drawer back in the fridge, and plopped his plate at a place at the bar, snagging one tremendous bite before heading back to the fridge.

“Hey, Mike,” Johnny said around his bite of sandwich, “I got milk and OJ – want anything?”

“Huh, I thought you hated orange juice.”

“I _do_ hate it.”

“So, um, why’s it in your fridge?”

“What are you, dense? Got it this morning ‘cause _you_ were gonna be here, that’s why.” Johnny held up the bottle and Mike nodded.

“Yeah, thanks, that’s perfect.” He paused, watching Johnny pour him a glass of orange juice, and then pour himself a glass of milk. “ _You’re_ perfect,” he said, kissing Johnny as soon as he was sure it wouldn’t cause any droppage or breakage. “Mm, yep, that’s it all right. Marmite.” 

Johnny grinned, and set the two glasses down at their places at the bar. He pulled out a bar-stool for Mike, and they tucked in to their meals. 

Johnny pocketed the bite he was working on in his cheek, and leapt up. “Almost forgot—aspirin. Be right back.” He dashed to the bathroom and came back with the bottle.

“Economy size, huh,” said Stoker, shaking out two tablets. “I guess you rescue guys do get beat up a lot.”

Johnny nodded, plowing through his sandwich. “Yeah—most of the big stuff that landed me in Rampart was just weird stuff like that shithead drunk driver, or that monkey virus that got Duntley, or that building that blew up with me still in it, but I’ll tell ya, Mike, getting bruised and battered day in and day out? Starting to think that’s something for a younger crowd.”

“Yeah?” asked Mike. “Whaddaya think you’ll do—engineer? Captain? You’d be a great Cap.” He worked on his sandwich.

“I dunno, Mike—I can be serious when I have to, but it’s hard for guys to take me seriously, sometimes. Prob’ly doesn’t help that I look twenty-five.”

“Twenty,” Mike interrupted, with his mouth full, earning himself a light smack.

“But seriously? I just really dig the paramedic stuff. Maybe someday they’ll get smart and split that out from the fire department and put us all in ambulances. ‘Cause ya know,” he bit off another hunk of sandwich, and talked around it, “there’s plenty of guys who could do the paramedic bit—physically, I mean—who would never pass the regular department physical.”

“Hm,” replied Mike, “good idea. No reason why you have to be a super-human rescue guy to be a good paramedic, and probably 75% of the time someone needs a paramedic, they don’t need a technical rescue, too.”

Johnny thought for a second. “More like 99%, especially if you don’t count MVAs, which always get a fire response anyhow.” Johnny had finished his sandwich, and got out a package of Oreos. He opened the bag, and waved them towards Mike.

“Thanks, but if I start to follow your dietary habits I know _exactly_ how I’ll bomb out of the department.”

Johnny munched on some cookies. “So what’re you gonna do, ya know, when you don’t dig the engineer stuff any more?”

“Not sure,” Mike admitted. “No _way_ I’m cut out to be a Captain—just not a talker. Never met a Cap that wasn’t a talker. At least, not a _good_ Cap. Can’t take care of your guys if you don’t talk to them, right?”

“S’pose not.”

“I’ve done a couple of arson investigation courses at the academy over the past few years. Might go somewhere with that. The last one I took was getting awfully, I don’t know, sciency. Would take a lot of studying to go into that business for real. For now, though, I’ll keep on driving and engineering. I do sometimes miss being a lineman, though.”

“Seriously?” Johnny put away the cookies.

“Yep. That brush fire where I did in my shoulder? Not that there’s anything nice about a brush fire, but honest to god, I was having a great time, me and Cap manning an attack line. Go figure.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.” Johnny grabbed his empty plate, and Mike’s, and set them in the sink. “Let’s just leave ‘em. If you can stand that,” he amended.

“Oh, all right,” said Mike, “but just ‘cause it’s your place.”

They spent the time till kick-off reading the Sunday paper, never straying far from each other. They watched the game, like good sports fans, and found that commercials provided great make-out breaks. The game ended, and Mike and Johnny were lounged on the couch, Mike’s head and shoulders cradled in Johnny’s lap. Their team had lost, but they didn’t care. But then, after spending the entire day inside, Johnny started to get antsy.

“Man, let’s get outta here. I know it’s crappy out, but I gotta get outta the house.”

“Okay by me. Ideas?” Mike replied.

“What I really wanna do,” grumbled Johnny, “is take you out and show you off. It’s not fair,” he complained. 

“Nope. You’re right, though—even though L.A. is big enough to lose a whole ‘nother city in, you and I can’t go out and party and still expect to have a job in the morning.”

“We can go eat somewhere, I guess, but we have to act like—”

“Like two co-workers grabbing a bite, and not like two people out on a date,” Mike finished for him. “It’s a bitch of a game.”

Johnny sat silently for a few moments. “Hey, Mike?”

“Mm?”

“I think maybe Cap knows there’s something goin’ on.”

Mike blew out a long breath. “Yeah, thought so, after you picked up when he called on Friday. Was he weird at all yesterday?”

“Well, he stayed out of the ‘did Gage get laid’ game—he always steers clear of that crap—but he almost, not quite, but _almost_ , said he knew I was at your place on Friday.”

“Um, how do you know what he _almost_ said if he didn’t _say_ it?” Mike asked reasonably.

“Well, what happened was, at the end of the shift, Kelly was goin’ on and on with the guys about tryin’ to figure out who my hot date was on Friday, and Cap walks right in, and he goes somethin’ like ‘he couldn’t’ve had a date, ‘cause he was at—’ … and he stopped there.”

“Shit—then what?”

“Then Chet goes, ‘at what, Cap?’ And then Cap looked right at me, and then said, ‘at the campground,’ and something about how if I’d had a date lined up for after the camping trip, wouldn’t I have been blabbing about it the whole week. And then he hightailed it back to his office.”

“Hm,” considered Mike. “You say anything to him?”

“Well, I couldn’t just not say anything, cause that would’ve been weird, so I just said thanks for not buying into the guys’ games all shift.” He paused. “But I think he knows I didn’t go out with some chick on Friday, Mike.”

“Okay,” said Mike. “We’ll deal.”

Johnny sighed. “How?”

“Well,” Mike said seriously, “I think we just tell him the truth.”

Johnny froze. “We’ll get booted outta the department.”

“Not if Cap doesn’t say anything. And I don’t think he’s the type. I mean, he volunteered you and Roy to take on that woman paramedic, right? And then there was that time we worked a brush fire, and there was a volunteer company with two female firefighters, and he chewed out one of L.A. County’s less fine examples of humanity for givin’ them a hard time—don’t think you were there for that, but it was pretty cool.”

“Huh,” said Johnny. “Musta missed that one.” He rubbed his face. “I still dunno, Mike, if we oughta just flat out tell him.”

“What’s the alternative?” said Mike. “If he knows, and we don’t say anything, that’s maybe worse than if we say something and he _didn’t_ know.”

Johnny didn’t say anything for a while. Then, very quietly, he did. “I’ll put in for a transfer.”

Mike reacted instantly. “Are you crazy? You have the best assignment you could hope for! I mean, the station is a mile from here, and you and Roy are the best team, and—well, geez, we haven’t even figured out yet how it’ll be if we’re on shift together. Might be okay, ya know.”

“Maybe.”

“Besides, if anyone transfers, it oughta be me. But I still think we should tell Cap, Johnny.”

Johnny scowled. “Let’s think about it, okay? I mean, he always says what we all do on our own time is our business, right?”

“Okay,” said Mike. “Okay. Let’s just keep quiet for now.”

“Okay.” Johnny was still scowling, and Mike didn’t like to see that. He reached around and put his hand on the back of Johnny’s neck, and kissed him lightly, and remained right there, forehead on Johnny’s cheekbone.

“I think,” Mike said, “we just survived our first fight.”

Johnny smiled, finally. “ _That_ was a _fight_?”

“Well, Stoker-style,” admitted Mike. “Quiet. Understated.”

Johnny’s stomach growled audibly. 

“Saved by the belly, huh?” Johnny said. “C’mon, let’s go out and grab some grub. And I promise, I’ll try not to grope you under the table.” He helped Mike off the saggy sofa. “Very much.”

**TBC**


	9. Meet You at Rampart

**Meet You at Rampart**

Johnny skidded into the station with just enough time to change before being officially late for roll call. By 0805 he and Roy were on dorms again, just as on the last shift.

“So, Johnny,” said Roy, after they had been assigned their chores for the day, “what happened to that new leaf you turned over?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean being real early. Well, I was at my own place this morning, so I guess I was just following my own habits. You know— _my_ alarm clock, _my_ breakfast ...”

“I see you’re still grinning like an idiot, though,” said Roy. “I guess you had a good day off?”

“Yep—pretty stellar. Even had our first fight. How ‘bout you? How’re Joanne and the kids? Haven’t seen them for a while, what with one thing and another.”

“Oh, they’re good. Kids were asking after you. Think you could tear yourself away from, um, whatever her name is, for dinner at our place Friday night? Or, better yet, bring her along? I _can_ keep my trap shut, you know,” said Roy.

Johnny plunked himself down onto the bunk he’d just stripped, and sighed heavily. “Roy, ya gotta trust me on this—there’s a good reason why I’m not ready to do Show and Tell, okay? As soon as it’s … reasonable, you’ll be the … um, second to know. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Roy, “but you’re killing me here.”

“Killing _you_? What about Chet?” Johnny laughed out loud. “He’s been moping around all morning, ‘cause I _still_ won’t bite!”

“Chet? Well, I think The Phantom is getting some mighty good payback here. I’m pretty impressed with how little you’re letting him get to you, Johnny.”

Johnny sniffed. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I really, really care a whole lot less about what he’s thinking and how much he’s needling me than I do about what’s going on in my real life. For the first time, Roy—I just really don’t care what he says. ‘Cause it just doesn’t matter.”

“Good for you, Johnny. That’s really good.” _Guess maybe Dix was right—our little boy_ is _growing up,_ Roy thought.

“Okay, partner, let’s get busy here. Then we oughta go stock up at Rampart—looks like B-shift musta had a lotta runs, ‘cause I took a quick peek at the squad and the cupboards are fairly bare,” said Johnny.

“Huh,” said Roy, “well, we oughta just go now, and leave the dorms till later, if Cap doesn’t mind. Don’t wanna be short of anything.”

“Good point—I guess I’m still kinda distracted,” Johnny said ruefully.

“Does that mean I still get to hit you today?”

“Yeah, but try the other arm for a change, will ya?”

They left everything in a heap. Johnny went to tell Cap they were short on supplies, and Roy went to do a real inventory of the squad.

“Yeah, we pretty much need to go straight to Rampart to resupply,” Roy said to Johnny, after Johnny emerged from Cap’s office. “Almost out of D5W, large-bore IV packs, and a whole bunch of other things besides.”

“Uh-huh—Cap says they had a couple real big MVAs last shift, and that we have a backboard off the engine at Rampart too.”

Roy slammed the compartment door shut, and hopped in the driver’s seat.

Johnny grabbed the radio. “L.A., Squad 51, 10-7 to Rampart for critical resupply.”

“ _10-4, Squad 51._ ”

They arrived at Rampart, and headed straight for the nurses’ station in the ER, where Dixie greeted them cheerfully.

“Well hello, boys,” she said.

“Hey, Dix. Don’t you ever have a day off?” asked Johnny.

“Hardly ever—I’ve been doing some subbing lately. Saving up for a new car,” she admitted. “You fellas need some supplies, I’ll bet.”

“Yep.” Roy handed her the list, and they got busy gathering the supplies. They quickly filled a cardboard box, and Dixie signed off on the inventory log.

“Squad 51, 10-8 at Rampart,” Johnny called in, putting the squad back in service.

“ _10-4 Squad 51. L.A. clear, KME 941_.”

“Hey, guys,” said a quiet voice.

“Hey, Mike! Thought we might bump into you,” said Johnny, grinning ear to ear.

“It’s your lucky day, I guess,” said Mike.

“Dix, you remember Mike Stoker, right?” said Johnny. “Last time you saw him, he had a hand loaded with cactus spines.”

“Of course! Dislocated shoulder, too, if I recall. You must be Dr. Brackett’s 9:00 appointment. He’s not here yet,” Dixie announced, “but he will be.”

“Okay.”

“Boys, why don’t you take Mike here to the staff lounge—we don’t make our favorite customers wait with the riff-raff,” she explained to Stoker.

“Thanks, uh, Miss McCall,” Stoker replied. “But I don’t mind.”

“Aw, c’mon, lemme show you where we shirk our responsibilities,” said Johnny, steering Mike to the lounge. “You’ll hate the coffee though.”

“Yeah, you know how picky I am,” said Mike, as he and Johnny disappeared into the lounge.

Dixie watched them go, as Roy closed up the box.

“Well, he’s certainly going to be popular with the girls up in the physical therapy department,” said Dixie. “Polite, charming, and easy on the eyes.”

“Yeah, well, they’re incredibly outta luck,” said Roy.

“Oh, he’s got a girlfriend? Too bad for the PT department.” Dixie shook her head. “Oh, well. Say, on a related note, is Johnny still smitten with the Mystery Date?”

Roy nodded solemnly. “In a big way, Dix. Last shift, he was pretty dopey, but this shift, he seems a bit more relaxed. Chet—he’s our station prankster—has been giving Johnny the full treatment, but Johnny’s not giving an inch. I was actually thinking this morning that it must be someone here at Rampart, someone I know, which is why he won’t tell me who she is. Anyhow—I’d better go load this stuff into the squad. Can you tell Johnny I’m out there when he resurfaces?”

“Sure, Roy. You two have a safe shift, and try not to bring us too many customers today, all right? Oh, and the backboard from your engine is right there by the door,” Dixie pointed out. “I’ll make sure he grabs it on his way.”

Roy went back to the squad, put all the supplies in their appropriate places, and sat in the driver’s seat. _Johnny must be off in la-la land again_ , he thought. He could picture Stoker sitting stiffly and uncomfortably in the staff lounge, while Johnny stared off into space with that dopey grin on his mug. Roy sighed, unbuckled his seat-belt, and went back inside to fetch Johnny. _Rescue man, do your job,_ he thought.

As he approached the staff lounge, Roy could hear peals of laughter. _Oh, boy, who’s laughing at my dopey partner now_?

He opened the door just enough to stick his head in.

And he saw the source of the laughter, which couldn’t have been farther from what he’d imagined: Stoker, convulsing with a bad case of the giggles.

“And then,” said Johnny, “I opened my locker. And I was expecting somethin’, of course, but not this. Okay, so I pull the door open, real slow, standing at the side like it’s the door to a fully involved room, right? And as soon as the door opens, there’s just this little click, and a hiss, and then there’s the sound of all these little kids, and they’re singin’ ‘Johnny’s got a girlfriend, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah, nyah,’ over, and over …”

Stoker was doubled over on the couch. “Oh, shit, that’s priceless! Was he watching? What’d you do?”

 _Wow,_ thought Roy, _three complete sentences in a row._

“Yeah, he was right there, hiding in the next row of lockers. And all I did was just turn off the tape recorder, and hand it to him, and just walked back to my locker and calmly, quietly, got my uniform on, and _just_ made roll call. And the best part? Kelly was so upset that I didn’t freak out that he was late for roll call, and got latrine duty!”

Roy watched, eyebrows creeping upwards, as Mike totally dissolved, taking Johnny with him into the giggles.

After a few seconds, they’d calmed themselves enough for Roy to feel like he could enter the room fully without getting sucked into whatever was going on. He didn’t quite see what was so funny—he’d heard the whole prank as it happened first thing that morning, but, well, it was just silly.

Dixie had come up behind Roy, and was peering into the staff lounge with interest, wondering what was so funny. She went into the lounge along with Roy, and got a cup of coffee, more to give her a reason to stick around than because she was really dying for a cup of stale coffee.

“Uh, Johnny, we better hit the road,” Roy reminded Johnny reasonably.

That did it. Mike and Johnny looked at each other and collapsed into hysterics again. Mike grabbed Johnny’s arm, as if to try to hold himself upright. It didn’t work.

“Oh, boy,” Roy muttered to Dixie. “See what I mean?”

The radio beeped its three beeps to signal that a call was coming, and Johnny sobered up in a hurry. He handed his coffee to Mike, and leapt up, wiping tears from his face. “Good luck with Brackett, Mike. See ya!” He let Roy exit first, and when Roy was thoroughly out of view, Johnny angled himself so Dixie couldn’t see him, and pointed to himself, then put a pretend phone to his ear, then pointed to Mike. Mike grinned, and shooed Johnny out of the lounge.

 

Roy grabbed the backboard on their way out, and loaded it into the long compartment in the back of the squad. He fired up the engine, as Johnny got out their map book and located the address of their call.

“Wow, Johnny, that was a pretty impressive display back there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Stoker lose it before,” remarked Roy.

“Well, it was pretty funny, Roy. Take the next right,” he added.

“I guess … but still, Stoker hardly ever even cracks a grin, let alone … whatever _that_ was.” Roy took a hard right, tires screeching. “Sorry.”

They reached the address of their call, and went in to the house where L.A. dispatch had said there was a child trapped. They grabbed their extrication tools out of the squad, not knowing what they’d find in the house. A woman met them at the front door, and gestured them in.

“Miss, can you tell us what’s happened?” asked Johnny, game face on solidly.

“Oh, Jason got his head stuck in the banister again, and this time I just can’t get him out,” the woman said anxiously.

Sure enough, a boy of about three was sitting halfway up the stairs, with his head protruding between two balusters.

“You gonna ‘rest me?” the boy asked nervously.

“No, son, we’re firemen. We’re just gonna get you outta there, okay?” said Roy.

Roy and John tried all their usual tricks—and they had plenty, since they got a call like this about once a week. Nothing worked.

The woman could see they were at the bottom of their toolbox. “Go ahead, saw out a baluster,” she said resignedly.

“I’m afraid that’s the only option left, Miss,” Roy agreed. Johnny ran back to the squad for a handsaw, which made short work of the baluster.

The boy popped his head out as soon as the baluster gave way. “Gee, thanks, mister firemen,” he said, looking anxiously at his mother.

“Up to your room, Now!” ordered the woman. She turned to Roy. “Well, sorry to call you out for this, fellas, but I sure do appreciate your getting him out.”

“No problem, miss, it’s our job. I would suggest, though, that you attach some wire mesh to the inside of the railing until he’s old enough to know better. It won’t look great, but it beats sawing out any more balusters,” said Johnny.

“Yes,” said the woman, “I suppose my husband will agree with that. Now all I have to do is deal with the landlord,” she sighed, as she ushered them out to the squad. “Thanks again!” she waved.

Roy and Johnny hopped into their customary seats, and the conversation picked up where it had left off before they reached the house.

“Just goes to show, Roy, everyone’s got their funny bone—you just gotta know where it is,” continued Johnny, as if their conversation hadn’t been interrupted by the rescue.

“And how are _you_ an expert on Stoker’s funny bone all of a sudden?” inquired Roy. “I didn’t even know he _had_ one.”

“It’s subtle,” Johnny said, “but it’s there.” He changed the subject, suddenly realizing he was treading on dangerous ground—dangerous ground that Roy didn’t even know existed. “So our shift has the whole weekend off—what’re you and Joanne and the—”

BEEP BEEP BEEP! “ _Squad 51, 65-year-old male with difficulty breathing, 2254 Remington, 2-2-5-4- Remington, cross-street Potter, time out: 0920._ ”

“Squad 51,” replied Johnny. “That’s clear on the other side of Rampart—we better hurry.”

By the time they arrived, the man was clearly having some kind of serious cardiac event. They were able to stabilize him, barely, and Johnny rode in with him while Roy drove the squad to Rampart. Dr. Early and a nurse met Johnny and the patient at the door, and Johnny left the man in their capable hands. Since they didn’t need his help, Johnny set off to the lounge to get a cup of coffee and wait for Roy.

In the lounge, Johnny found Dr. Brackett taking a short coffee break as well.

“Mornin’, Doc!” he greeted Brackett cheerfully.

“Hi, Johnny,” Brackett replied. “Say, Mike Stoker’s on your shift, right?”

“Sure is, Doc. He was in to see you this morning for his shoulder, right?”

“Yes he was. And, I’m glad to say everything looked good, and he’s actually ahead of schedule. I expect I’ll be able to sign him off after two or three more weeks, if he keeps up with the PT.”

“Great! I’ll keep him on track, Doc.”

“Hm, yeah, he said you’d been helping him out some already. Though it _was_ like pulling nails to get him to say _anything_ , frankly,” said Brackett.

“Yep, that’s our Mikey. Hey, is he up in PT now?”

Brackett checked his watch. “Could be he’s still up there—I sent him up about three quarters of an hour ago.”

“Maybe I’ll go check on him. Wonder what’s taking Roy so long with the squad.” Johnny grabbed his radio. “Squad 51, HT 51—what’s your status?”

“ _HT 51, squad’s got a flat tire. We’re out of service for at least 30 minutes, depending on when Charlie can get here._ ”

“Copy. See you at Rampart. HT 51 out.”

Dr. Brackett looked back at Johnny. “Well, there’s your answer. Looks like you’ve got some time to kill—why don’t you go check on your friend?”

“Yeah, Doc, I think I will,” said Johnny. “Catch ya later. Thanks for looking after Mike.”

“My pleasure,” said Dr. Brackett. “Nice polite fellow. He’s probably going to be very popular with the ladies up in PT,” he remarked. “They usually complain about the firemen and the policemen, but he’s kind of not what you expect.”

“Well, they’re gonna be mighty disappointed,” Johnny said as he left the lounge. Then, once he was on his own, in the hallway, he grinned. “’Cause he’s reeeeaaallly not available,” he said out loud.

Dixie watched him pass, as Kel came out of the lounge. “What’s become of Roy?” she asked Kel. “The squad usually gets here right after the ambulance.”

“Well, it seems that the squad has a flat tire,” said Kel. “You never think of emergency vehicles having ordinary problems like that, but I suppose it must happen.”

“So where’ s Johnny off to?” she asked.

“Going to see if his buddy from his shift is still up in PT. You haven’t seen him come back down, have you?

Dixie shook her head. “No, and I’m guessing he would have, once he was done.”

~!~!~!~

Johnny was well acquainted with the PT staff, having needed their services several times over the last few years. He rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, and turned the corner to the PT clinic area. He stopped at the desk.

“Hey, Judy!” he greeted the receptionist.

“Well, John Gage! Good heavens, we haven’t seen you here in quite a while, have we?”

“No, ma’am,” replied Johnny. “I’m just here to look in my friend Mike Stoker, if he’s still here. He’s, uh, one of my shift-mates.”

“Oh, of course! He should be just about finished up—I know Carol has another appointment coming in shortly. Would you like to wait for him?”

“Sure,” said Johnny. “My partner’s stuck on the road with a flat tire on the squad, so I’ve got a few minutes to kill yet.”

Johnny tried to sit still in the waiting area, but ended up walking around while trying to read a magazine. Which never worked very well, really. Finally, he went back to the desk to bother Judy some more.

“So, Judy, how are the kids? They must be getting pretty big, huh?” Johnny said, just to kill time.

Judy looked like she didn’t mind killing some time herself. “Oh yeah, especially their mouths! Robbie’s in sixth grade, and Theresa’s in eighth. They’re both grounded this week for talking back.” She handed him pictures from her desk.

“Wow,” said Johnny. “I guess it _has_ been a while since I was up here.”

“Oh look,” said Judy, “here they come now.”

“And remember,” said Carol, the physical therapist, “heat _before_ exercises, ice _after_.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mike made his way over to the desk to schedule his next appointment. “Hey, Gage, you stalking me?”

“Yep.” Johnny flashed his grin. “Roy’s got a flat tire, so I guess I’m stuck at Rampart for a little while. Wanna get some lunch?”

“Uh, Johnny? It’s only ten thirty,” said Mike.

“Okay, then, I’ll get my second breakfast, or maybe first lunch, and you can get whatever,” Johnny said.

“Deal,” said Mike. “So,” he said to Judy, “Carol said twice a week.”

“All right, Mr. Stoker, how about Thursday? Any particular time?”

“Any time is fine.”

“One p.m.?” asked Judy.

“Sure,” said Mike. He took the appointment card. “Thanks, see you then.”

“Bye, Judy, nice to see you,” said Johnny.

“All right, Gage, let’s get you fed. Again,” said Mike, as they walked towards the elevator. “The word ‘tapeworm’ does come to mind on occasion.”

The elevator was already at the fourth floor, so they hopped right in. As soon as the doors were shut, Mike gave Johnny an evil look, used one hand to press and hold the “stop” button, and used the rest of himself to press and hold Johnny up against the elevator wall. “Can’t stay away, huh?” he asked huskily.

“Nuh-uh.” Johnny stole a clandestine elevator kiss. “Not for five minutes, if I can help it. But Mikey? Hospital elevator,” he said sadly. “Can’t hold it up.”

“Damn,” said Mike, releasing the “stop” button, and, dangerously, planting one more kiss on Johnny’s lips.

DING! The elevator doors opened at the third floor, and a doctor and a nurse walked in.

DING! The two hospital employees walked out at the second floor.

“Seriously, you’re really gonna eat again?” asked Mike. “Seems to me I just got done hand-feeding you an extra large Breakfast of Champions, in your bed, about what, three hours ago?”

DING! The elevator doors opened onto the first floor, and Mike and Johnny got out.

“Take a left,” said Johnny. “Yeah, true, but it _was_ three hours ago. Here we are.”

“Hey, Johnny,” said the attendant at the cafeteria line. “Second breakfast, or first lunch?”

“Hey Bill. I’m thinkin’, hm, first lunch. ‘Cause there’s not much that could top my breakfast this morning. Any chance of a burger at this hour?”

“Sure thing, Johnny. Fries aren’t up yet, though. Milkshake?”

“Christ on a crutch,” muttered Mike.

“You bet. How ‘bout chocolate?”

“Comin’ right up. Anything for your friend?”

“Just a coffee,” said Mike.

“Sensible man,” said Bill. “Here ya go, Johnny. Burger, extra large chocolate shake, and a coffee for you, mister.”

They settled up at the register, and went out to the patio, which they had to themselves.

“So, what’d Carol say?” Johnny asked, around a bite of burger.

“She gave me some exercises to do—pretty much the stuff you showed me already, plus a couple more. And she and Brackett both said everything looks on track for getting back to work in three weeks or so.”

“Great!” Their knees met under the table. Neither one of them moved.

“There a supply closet around here we could hijack for a while?” Mike asked slyly.

“Ooh, naughty naughty! And the trick with the elevator? _Very_ naughty.”

“This coming from the guy who has _the_ most unorthodox uses for Hershey’s syrup known to man? And then there was the—”

“ _HT 51, Squad 51_.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Figures,” he said to Mike. “Squad 51, go ahead,” he said to the radio.

“ _I’m rolling—ETA to Rampart five minutes._ ”

“Copy. I’ll meet you outside.”

“ _10-4, Squad 51 out._ ”

“Well,” said Johnny, “time to get back to work. Walk you to your truck?”

“You bet. Parked so far out that oughta kill the whole five minutes.”

They bussed their table, and headed out through the E.R.

“See ya, Dix!” Johnny said on his way past the nurses’ station.

“Bye Johnny, bye Mike.” Dixie watched them walk, slightly closer together than would seem usual, and in perfect step, through the main E.R. door and out to the parking lot. For just a second, she thought that it looked like they ought to be holding hands. _No, Roy,_ she thought, _I’m pretty sure it’s_ _ **not**_ _someone who works at Rampart._

 **TBC**


	10. Complications

**Complications**

The rest of Monday’s shift was a complete and utter bitch.

After the squad was back in service, they had sixteen runs in the remaining twenty-one hours of the shift. Their total of eighteen runs was not a record, but they were up and running all night.

Come Tuesday morning, Johnny and Roy were completely exhausted. Mike and Johnny had planned to meet up at Mike’s house at the end of the shift, but Roy and John had a tradition for after shifts like this one. Joanne didn’t want Roy driving home after an all-nighter, so she’d pick up both the guys, drop Johnny at his place, and then take Roy home. Johnny figured it would be pretty awkward to not partake of this years-long pattern, so while they were waiting for Joanne, Johnny slipped into the dorms to call Mike.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey, it’s me,” said Johnny. “Listen, the shift was a bitch, a total all-nighter, and Roy already called Joanne to come pick us up, and I didn’t want to back out and try to explain, so it looks like I’m gonna be at my place. I’m really sorry.”

“ _That’s no problem. I can come over there, if you want,_ ” Mike said calmly. He was aware of Joanne’s standing orders for Johnny and Roy after all-nighters, and he didn’t have anything to do at home anyhow. “ _I’ll make you some food—some real food, none of this ice-cream business—while you’re sleeping._ ”

“Would you?” said Johnny. “Wow, that’d be great. Honest, I’d love that. I’ll just hit the shower when I get dropped off and then hit the sack, so go ahead and let yourself in.”

“ _Sure thing_.”

“Wow.” Johnny said again. “That’s really … I mean … wow.”

Mike was sad that it seemed that Johnny was so surprised by his offer. “ _Nobody’s ever really understood your job before, have they,_ ” he replied.

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” admitted Johnny. “Can’t tell you how many fights this sort of thing has caused.”

“ _I know,_ ” said Mike. “ _Me too_.”

Roy and Joanne entered the dorm, and gestured to Johnny to finish up.

“Hey, I gotta go—Joanne’s here. See you soon, okay?”

“ _Okay. Bye_.”

Johnny hung up the phone and rose wearily to follow the DeSotos out to Joanne’s car.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I hit just about all my limits this shift,” said Roy, yawning.

“Yep,” was all Johnny could muster up. He struggled to stay awake for the five-minute trip.

Joanne pulled the car into the lot by Johnny’s building.

“Thanks, Joanne. You’re a gem,” Johnny said as he got out. The staircase looked awfully long this morning, but he braved it, got his door open, and decided to skip the shower and head straight for the sack. He was asleep, on top of the covers, in all his clothes, in thirty seconds.

Joanne looked over at her husband while she was stopped at a red light. “Well, I’ll bet you missed that little clue back at the station, didn’t you,” she said.

“Huh?” Roy replied blearily, proving her point. “What clue?”

“Well, when we popped into the dorm to collect Johnny, he was on the phone, probably canceling plans with, well, whoever it is.”

“Uh huh? But what clue?”

“I could be wrong, but it sounded like whoever he was talking to knows who I am, since he said ‘gotta go, Joanne’s here.’ I mean, if this woman didn’t already know who I was, that would be a weird thing to say, right?”

“Huh. Makes sense. Goes with my theory that he’s clammed up ‘cause it’s somebody we know. Must be a nurse at Rampart, don’t you think?”

Joanne frowned. “I don’t know, Roy; I only know two or three of the nurses over there by name, and none of them really seem like his type.”

“Well,” Roy yawned again, “I’m starting to think maybe I don’t really know what his type _is_ , actually. Maybe he’s so smitten this time because he’s finally broken out of his stereotypical girlfriend pattern—you know, pretty, slim, giggly—and found someone more, well, real. Maybe what everyone—including him—thinks is his type is absolutely wrong for him. Or maybe she’s not so perfectly beautiful or something—I don’t know. I’m stumped as to why else he’d clam up so tightly. Gotta either be someone we all know, or someone who’s so outside his usual type that he’s freaked out.”

“Or both,” pondered Joanne.

They drove on in silence. Roy couldn’t sleep in the car, but he also wasn’t up for thinking up any more theories.

Joanne was, though.

“Roy?”

“Mm?”

“This is going to sound completely crazy.”

“Try me,” Roy replied, eyes closed.

“What if it’s not a woman?”

“Huh?!” That woke Roy up in a hurry.

“I know, Johnny comes across as such a skirt-chaser. But hear me out—what if it’s a man?”

“No way, Joanne. I really don’t think so,” Roy said firmly.

“Why on earth not? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s quite obvious to me, at least, that Johnny is, well, pretty universally appealing, if you know what I mean. Women look at him, but you know what? So do men.”

“Yeah, maybe they do, but that’s a far cry from him actually, well, you know. No, I really don’t see Johnny as gay.”

Joanne laughed. “Okay, I know you’re not creeped out by this, with you being close to your cousin Steve and all, but Roy, I’m pretty sure that preferences are a spectrum, not black and white. I mean, I guess you have to biologically be either male or female—I’m no expert, but I imagine _that_ part is usually pretty black and white. But any given person could have a wide range of, um, tastes. Right?”

“I suppose,” Roy said dubiously.

“Take Mike Stoker for instance. I mean, he’s been with Serena a long time, but haven’t you ever noticed how he looks at Johnny?”

Roy didn’t say anything—there was really nothing he could say that wouldn’t violate Mike’s trust in him.

“Okay, maybe not,” continued Joanne. “But trust me—women notice these things. He looks. A _lot_. So, why couldn’t Johnny be the same? All I really know is that he’ll go out with a girl maybe once or twice and then get dumped. Or maybe he’s the one that does the dumping, but I don’t think so. And he probably wouldn’t tell _you_ if he went out with men, too, now would he? So maybe you think I’m crazy, but—”

Roy sat bolt upright in the passenger seat, suddenly not sleepy at all. “Pull over!”

“Honey, are you all right?” Joanne pulled the car over, even though they were only blocks from home.

Roy had a distant look, as if he were calculating a sum, or trying to recall something important.

“Roy?”

Roy looked back at her. “It’s Mike.”

“What?” asked Joanne, not understanding what Roy meant.

“You’re absolutely right on target, Jo. It’s not some nurse from Rampart that Johnny’s been seeing. It’s Mike Stoker.”

Joanne sighed. “Oh dear, I was just using him as an example, Roy—I didn’t mean to imply that he and Johnny were—”

“No, I know you weren’t. But it’s him. It’s definitely him. Oh, lord, my partner is sleeping with our engineer.” Roy laid his forehead on the dashboard, as if the thrum of the engine could drown out the noise in his head.

Joanne thought about this for a minute. “Well. That could get … complicated.” She turned the engine off, realizing this was going to be a long conversation.

“Oh boy, Jo, you’re not kidding. I mean, I don’t care, not really, though it will take some getting used to, but … well, it just _can’t_ become public knowledge, you know?”

“Plus there’s Serena,” said Joanne. “I don’t know Mike well, of course, but he doesn’t seem like the type to—”

Roy interrupted her. “Joanne, I’ve known for a while, but I wouldn’t have been right for me to tell you—Mike is gay, and he and Serena are just friends. Makes things easier for him, I guess, for people to think he’s got a steady girlfriend.”

Joanne pondered once again. “Well, that certainly … explains some things.”

“Like what?” Roy asked.

Joanne cleared her throat. “Uh, girl talk, Roy. Girl talk. Trust me, you really _don’t_ want to know. Suffice it to say, I had my doubts about whether Serena and Mike were, you know, sleeping together.”

“No, you’re right, I _really_ don’t want to know.” Roy rubbed his brow.

“But Roy,” said Joanne, “I don’t understand why you think it has to be Mike.”

Roy described the pair’s behavior on the camping trip; then finding them cuddled up asleep in the back seat on the drive home; Johnny’s never using pronouns when he talked about who he was with; finding Mike and Johnny laughing hysterically at Rampart, and Johnny’s remark about Stoker’s subtle funny bone. Put that all together with the timing of Johnny’s smitten behavior, and voila.

“Mike Stoker, falling all over himself laughing? Now _that_ I would’ve liked to have seen,” declared Joanne.

“Actually,” said Roy, “it was more like he was falling all over Johnny.”

“In any case,” Joanne continued, “the facts do seem to add up.”

As Roy thought about it, he realized other things that made sense now—Johnny’s being early to shift on Saturday, for one—nobody was ever that early except Stoker. When they ran into Stoker at Rampart, and Johnny said he hoped they might bump into him—why would Johnny think they might run into Stoker unless he already knew that Mike was going to be there?

Roy shook his head. “I don’t see why he didn’t feel like he could tell _me_ , though.”

“Roy, why would he feel like he _could_ tell you?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He’s never met Steve, right?”

Joanne smiled. “No, honey; you don’t tend to have your firehouse friends over to play when Steve’s visiting. And another thing,” she continued, “I think he— _they_ —would probably feel like they needed to tell Captain Stanley first, wouldn’t they?”

Another piece clicked into place for Roy. Johnny had said, “ _As soon as it’s … reasonable, you’ll be the … um, second to know._ ”

“Well, darn it, Jo, how in the world are they gonna tell Cap? I mean, I’ve never exactly looked it up, but I’m pretty sure a guy could get fired for that sort of thing. I guess. I don’t know.” Roy rubbed his brow again, realizing he was developing a tremendous headache.

“I think Captain Stanley’s a reasonable man, Roy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him coming down really hard on any one of you guys—not even Johnny, and I’ve heard some pretty spectacular stories that could sound a _teensy_ bit like disobeying orders if looked at a certain way.”

“You’re right, Jo. Another Captain might think Johnny was a major freelancer, but our Cap? He knows Johnny’s head is screwed on right, if not as tightly as it should be, and that if he bends the rules, there’s always a good reason.”

“And Chet? Wow, can you imagine him getting away with some of his nonsense at other stations?” Joanne shook her head, thinking about some of Chet’s pranks. She suspected there were more outrageous things than the ones Roy had chosen to tell her about, too.

“Again, Jo, Cap knows Chet never pulls any pranks that are dangerous or really offensive. And that if things seem to be going too far, Cap just pulls him aside quietly and that’s the end of it.”

“So Roy, do you think Captain Stanley would report them? Get them fired for, I don’t even know what it might be called. Fraternizing?”

“Conduct unbecoming, more likely.”

“Whatever,” Joanne said brusquely, impatient with terminology. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

Roy considered this question. “I don’t think he would. He always says that what we do on our time is our business, unless it affects our work.” He sighed. “And I guess that’s the real problem, isn’t it. This _will_ affect their work, no matter how you look at it. The department doesn’t even let brothers or fathers and sons work on the same shift at the same station any more, so this? Completely out of the question, even if it weren’t already a touchy topic. I mean, this is L.A., not San Francisco. I guess if I were him? I’d suggest that one of them put in for a transfer.”

“That’s what I would do, too,” said Joanne. “Whether it lasts or not, they can’t work together. Not in a job like this. If it doesn’t last—well, working with the other person would be awkward. If it does last? Seeing the other person in danger could be really hard. I mean, I couldn’t be there seeing _you_ do what you do every day.”

Roy sat silently for a few seconds. “Do you think I should talk to Johnny?” he asked, reluctantly, knowing what Joanne would say, and knowing that she would be right,

“If you’re sure, absolutely sure, that Mike is the one he’s tangled up with? Definitely.” She started the car again. “But not at work. And soon. Like today.”

“I’m sure,” Roy said wearily. “Today. I’ll talk to him today. _After_ I get some shut-eye.”

They sat silently the rest of the way home. When they reached the house, Joanne let them in the front door. Roy plodded up the stairs, and, like his already-sleeping partner, skipped the shower, and fell straight asleep.

~!~!~!~

It wasn’t till 10:00 that Mike finally let himself into Johnny’s apartment as quietly as he could. He first put away the groceries he’d brought—all the supplies needed for Stoker’s Spaghetti Supreme. Then, he couldn’t resist checking on Johnny.

He found the bedroom door open, and saw that Johnny hadn’t bothered with much of anything when he got home. He was sprawled face-down, diagonally across his bed, still-shod feet hanging off one edge. Mike figured he could at least get Johnny’s shoes off without waking him. Sure enough, he was able to remove first one shoe, then the other, and Johnny barely stirred. Mike remembered there was an afghan on the living room sofa, and brought that in to cover Johnny with. He draped the afghan over the napper, who pulled it around himself and curled up like a cat, mumbling to himself as he did so.

Mike wrestled with temptation, and won. Much though he would have loved to climb in and curl up around Johnny, he knew that would be selfish. So he quietly closed the door, and headed to the kitchen to start chopping up the vegetables for the spaghetti sauce. He had decided not to start actually cooking anything until Johnny was awake, since he didn’t want to take any chance of waking him.

It didn’t take him long to do the prep on the ingredients for making his spaghetti for just the two of them. When he’d finished, he cleaned up, and started some coffee. He knew Johnny wouldn’t be awake for another two hours or so, but he was dying for another cup. He set up the percolator, and settled into the living room with his book.

Mike stared at the same page for several minutes before realizing he wasn’t really reading. He was thinking about the conversation he and Johnny had had on Sunday, about whether or not to say anything to Cap. Mike still felt strongly that they should tell him. Even though they had been together for only a week, Mike felt an intense connection with Johnny, and suspected Johnny felt the same. He knew, too, that Johnny was not comfortable talking about emotional things. Mike sighed, realizing he would have to bring the topic up again, and this time, their fight might not be Stoker style. _Great._

Mike returned to the kitchen and poured his coffee. He wasn’t looking forward to re-opening that can of worms, but knew it had to be done. He paced the kitchen, returned to the living room, and then paced there for a while. He felt his anxiety kicking in, the familiar old feeling in his stomach that told him he was starting to obsess about something.

11:00. Johnny had been sleeping for about two and a half hours—not nearly enough to make the day tolerable when you’d pulled an all-nighter. But Johnny had said, very firmly, that Mike shouldn’t let himself get worked up—that they could always talk.  _Time to put that order to the test, then_ .

Mike set his coffee mug on the counter, and quietly opened the bedroom door. Johnny had managed to get the afghan onto the floor, but he himself was at least entirely on the bed, with his head on a pillow, facing towards the center of the bed. Mike joined him, trying to jostle the bed and its occupant as little as possible. He draped an arm and a leg over Johnny, and touched their foreheads together. Johnny stirred slightly, stretched out an arm, and pulled Mike closer. Mike heard his own name in Johnny’s mumbling, which made him smile.

Mike carded through Johnny’s thick hair with his fingers, and kissed him gently on the lips. “Hey, love,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“Johnny?” Mike stroked Johnny’s hair, his cheekbone, and kissed him once more.

“Time is it,” mumbled Johnny.

“It’s early, too early to wake you up, I’m sorry, but I gotta talk to you. Head’s full of shit.”

Johnny’s eyes popped open. “Whassa matter?”

Mike cut right to the chase. “We really have to talk to Cap. I know you don’t want to—hell, I don’t either—but we have to.”

Johnny sighed. “I was thinkin’ about that the whole shift. Still hate the idea.”

Mike closed his eyes, and got ready for the argument he knew was coming.

But Johnny continued. “Hate it a lot. But you’re right. Has to be done. And not at the station. And soon.”

Mike kept his eyes closed, sighing with relief. “Okay. That’s a load off my mind. I thought you were gonna be mad.”

“Naw, just … nervous. C’mere.” He snuck an arm under Mike’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Glad you woke me up.”

“Me too.” Mike continued combing his fingers through Johnny’s hair. “Can you sleep some more?”

“Prob’ly should. Don’t wanna, though.” Johnny ran his free hand down Mike’s back, and planted it firmly inside a back pocket.

“I’ll make you a deal. You sleep two more hours, and I’ll wake you up reeaaall nice,” said Mike.

“You got yourself a deal, Stoker,” said Johnny. “Wanna take a nap with me first?”

“Hm, not tired,” Mike replied. “But yeah. I wanna stay right here for a while.”

“Good.” Johnny’s eyes drifted shut again, and Mike watched him fall asleep.

 **TBC**


	11. Cap, We Need to Talk

**Cap, We Need To Talk**

Mike dozed off for a while, even though he really wasn’t tired. When he woke, it was time to get cooking on the spaghetti. He slipped carefully out from Johnny’s grasp, got out of the bed without waking him, and closed the bedroom door. He tried not to make too much noise rummaging through the cabinets. But, if the smells of cooking woke him, so be it.

Mike was pleased that Johnny had really meant it when he said they could talk any time. He really meant it. In addition to not being annoyed by being woken early, he had also put some thought into a topic that Mike was afraid was just going to be shoved under the rug, or pocket-vetoed, or argued about. Now the two of them just had to figure out how—and when—to talk to Cap.

And Mike was still strongly considering putting in for a transfer. He was feeling like this thing with Johnny was really going someplace, and the last thing he wanted was to go back to work and have the damned job foul things up. Again. Yep, a transfer was the way to go. With any luck, he could get on A-shift at another station, and their schedules would be the same.

Mike drained the pasta, and threw the sauce in the pot with the cooked pasta. It could sit that way until they felt like eating. Perfect timing—it was exactly time to wake up Johnny. Wake him up reeeeeaal nice, as promised.

Stoker crept quietly into the dimly lit bedroom. Johnny was still sound asleep, sprawled on his back, arms stretched over his head. His long-sleeved t-shirt had come untucked from his jeans. _Perfect_. Mike straddled Johnny’s legs, and nuzzled the small patch of skin visible between the waistline of the jeans and the hem of the shirt. He slid his hands under the shirt, and started helping it on its way upwards. Each new exposed area of skin got some attention as it appeared, inch by inch. Johnny’s skin was salty and gritty from the toil of a hard shift, but Mike didn’t really care.

Mike wasn’t really sure how awake Johnny was until his tongue swirled the first nipple it encountered.

“Mike …”

“Mm?”

“s nice. But I’m gross. Need a shower,” said Johnny.

“Too bad—you’re just gonna need one even more pretty soon. And, see how nice it is not to have so many buttons to deal with?” Mike pulled the shirt the rest of the way up, over Johnny’s head, and tossed the shirt aside with minimal fuss, and got right back to his task. He was interrupted briefly by getting his own shirt stripped off. Once that was achieved, Mike sank his body back down onto Johnny’s, and both men sighed as skin met skin.

Mike returned his attentions to helping Johnny wake up. Johnny was right—he really needed a shower—but that wasn’t going to stop Mike from fulfilling his promise of a nice wake-up call.

“Too many clothes, Gage.” He straddled Johnny’s legs, and worked the belt buckle undone, and the jeans’ button and zipper. “Help me out here,” he ordered. Johnny lifted his butt to allow Mike to strip off the bottom layers. “Better, better,” said Mike. He undid his own jeans and swiftly added the rest of his clothing to the heap on the floor. “And I see _some_ of you is waking up nicely.”

Mike draped himself over Johnny, all the right parts together, holding himself up on his forearms. “And the bad news is,” he said, rolling right off again, “this shoulder still ain’t good for pushups.”

Johnny was well awake at this point. “Well, I think I can handle that part. Move over here a little, you’re gonna fall right off the edge there, yeah, I gotcha.”

“My own personal rescue man,” remarked Mike.

“Yep, all yours,” said Johnny, as he turned his attention to the task at hand. His lips found a now-familiar place halfway down Mike’s neck, and he was rewarded with the gasp he thought he’d get. Working downwards, he let Mike’s chest hair tickle his face as he attended thoroughly first to one nipple, then the other. Mike arched his hips upwards, looking for friction and pressure. Their bodies were dry and salty, and scraped together uncomfortably.

Johnny reached over Mike, and rummaged in a nightstand drawer. Mike heard a flip-top cap open, and then saw Johnny warming something briskly between his hands. Then, deliciously, those hands Mike appreciated so much slicked up their cocks with something warm, lightly scented, and nicely slippery. Johnny wiped the remaining lube off on his own abdomen, and finally, he covered Mike’s body with his own again, and their mouths found each other, and their hands found each other, and everything found each other.

Johnny tortured Mike a little, by not moving at all. He looked intensely into Mike’s deep blue eyes. Mike arched up again. “Please...” he whimpered.

“What do you need, Mike?” Johnny whispered right in Mike’s ear. “Hmm?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Gage, you can never hold still when you’re supposed to, so why now?” Mike groaned impatiently. “You gotta—uuhn …”

Mike’s complaints turned around a hundred and eighty degrees, as Johnny suddenly surged their bodies together, and the slickness and hardness and friction between them did their magic. Hands roamed, and lips and tongues took excursions wherever they pleased.

“… oh god Johnny …” Mike looked up into Johnny’s face, and saw his own passion mirrored darkly in Johnny’s eyes.

Brown eyes watched intently as half-lidded blue eyes rolled back. Strong, pale hands encouraged and guided the rhythm of the tan hips they grasped, and the pace of their movement together increased.

“Ah, Mike … so close …” And then he was there, and they were there, and they collapsed together in a sweaty, spent, sated heap.

Neither one was capable of coherent verbal communication for quite some time. Mike broke the breathy silence first. “Saw stars, Johnny.”

“Me too. Every time, with you.”

They nuzzled and snuggled together for a while longer, until Mike heard Johnny’s stomach growling. “So what’s next on the menu?” Mike asked. “Shower, or Stoker’s Spaghetti Supreme?”

“Oooh, tough decision. Can’t eat in the shower—I’ve tried it; never works. How ‘bout this: a super-fast, no nonsense, just-to-get-clean shower, then eat. ‘Cause I’m about to die of malnourishment.”

Mike frowned. “You didn’t eat after your shift, did you.” It was really more of an observation than a question, but Johnny answered anyhow.

“Thought about it, but didn’t manage.”

Mike was rapidly building up a Personal Guide to the Care and Feeding of John Gage. “All right, against my more carnal inclinations, I’ll let you get a shower all by your lonesome, but only because that’ll go faster. And don’t even bother with getting dressed—I want to see you in your towel, at the table, in five minutes.”

Johnny grinned and leapt out of bed. “For you, I’ll do it in three. Time me,” he said, racing to the shower.

Mike shook his head in wonder— _the guy is hyper as hell even on half a night’s sleep, mind-blowing sex, and no breakfast or coffee._ He emerged from the bed, pulled on his clothes, and headed to the kitchen. He turned the heat back on under the pot full of spaghetti, and stirred it while it warmed. Not that it had had time to cool off much, but still.

Mike heard the water shut off. A minute later, Johnny emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair wet and uncombed. Mike laughed, and set a huge plate of spaghetti in front of this splendid vision.

“Whaaa-aat.” Johnny scowled accusingly.

“Nothing,” said Mike, dishing up his own lunch. “Just enjoying the scenery. Chow down,” he suggested. He poured a glass of milk for Johnny, and water for himself, and joined Johnny at the table.

“Wow, Mike, great as usual,” Johnny managed to say while wolfing down his first portion.

Mike knew better than to try to have an actual conversation with Johnny when he was in wolfing-mode. He settled for watching and appreciating Johnny’s progress while working at a sane pace on his own lunch. When Mike was halfway through his human-sized portion, Johnny hopped up and dished out another helping for himself.

Halfway through his second helping, Johnny started to slow down, and was able to carry on a conversation. “So, I guess we oughta call Cap, huh?”

Mike sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, we oughta.”

“What do we even _say_? I don’t even _begin_ to know how to handle this.” Johnny poked at an olive. 

Mike cleared his throat. “Well, I was thinking while you were sleeping. I think I should call him, tell him I need to discuss something really personal with him ASAP, and see if he’ll come over to my place later. And then, well, we just tell him.”

“I guess.” Johnny squiggled the few remaining strands of spaghetti around on his plate. “Aw, man, I’m just no good at this stuff. I get all tongue-tied, and stupid, and I can’t sit still—reminds me of being sent to the principal’s office when I was a kid.”

“In a surprise move, I’ll do all the talking if you want,” Mike offered. “I’ve talked to Cap about personal stuff before—nothing like this, of course, but the usual stuff that comes up. He’s all right. And Johnny?”

Gage looked up to meet Mike’s eyes.

“I’m gonna tell him I’ll put in for a transfer, to keep things clean. No,” he said as Johnny started to protest, “it’s the logical thing to do. He couldn’t let us keep working together; you know that. And, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be a bad way to bring the whole thing up, either.”

“What, you mean you say, ‘Cap I need a transfer,’ and then he goes ‘Why, Stoker?’ and you go, ‘Cause I’m screwing one of your paramedics,’ and he says ‘Which one?’ and I pop out from behind the couch and say ‘Boo?’ Uh-uh, Mike. Wrong order.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Besides, sounds like he’s got some inkling anyhow, so when he shows up at my house and you’re there, well, there might not be much to say.”

“Especially if I’m only wearing a towel,” Johnny added. “Just kidding, just kidding. But seriously, yeah, I think he already suspects something, but doesn’t really even know what he suspects. So just have him come over to your place, if he will, and we’ll take it from there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Johnny paused, and looked seriously at Mike. “And thanks, Mike. Thanks for taking the transfer.”

Mike took Johnny’s hand from across the table. “It makes more sense this way. Can’t go splitting you and Roy up. And I really don’t mind—my commute sucks, especially _after_ shift, right at rush hour, going the same way as the rest of the fools. And, I couldn’t stand watching you do all your crazy rescue stuff anymore, while I stand there by the engine, safely operating the pumps.”

Johnny stood up, pulled the table two feet towards himself, and went around to the other side. He straddled Mike’s lap, putting his hands on Mike’s shoulders. “Don’t ever talk like that. You’re damned good at your job—there’s never been  _one_ time that our crew needed water and didn’t have it because you missed something.  _Never_ . And that keeps the rest of us safe—brings us home every damned time. And there’s nothing wrong with  _not_ being the one who runs towards the fire. Stupid thing to do anyhow. So you just keep being an engineer, and keep bringing everyone home every shift, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike said quietly.

“Okay,” Johnny concluded, tipping Mike’s chin up and kissing him soundly.

The phone rang, shattering the moment.

“Shit.” Johnny went to answer it.

“Hello?”

Mike couldn’t hear who was at the other end of the conversation.

“Oh, hey Roy. What’s up?”

Johnny listened, and rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

“Yeah,” said Johnny, as he flopped down onto the sofa, and held his head in his hand.

“Okay, in half an hour,” he said. “But we’re—I mean, I gotta go out not too long after that.”

Mike heard more unintelligible speech, and a click. And then Johnny’s jaw dropped. He looked at the handset as if it had suddenly grown purple feathers and eyes on stalks , and placed it gently back on the base.

“What was that all about?” asked Mike, joining Johnny on the couch.

Johnny ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aw, we’re gonna get some practice on our speeches. Roy’s coming over in half an hour—he has to talk to me about something really important, right away. And he says not to send you home.”

Mike sat stock still. “Me, specifically?”

“You, specifically, by name.”

Mike slumped over onto Johnny. “Well, that’s one down, at least partly, and one to go. I’ll call Cap right now, since we’re on a roll.

Johnny silently passed him the phone, stretching the wall cord over himself.

Mike took a deep breath, and dialed.

“Hey, Cap, it’s Mike Stoker.”

Johnny imagined Cap at the other end of the line, probably asking about Mike’s scheduled check-up from the other morning.

“Yeah, I’m fine, and Dr. Brackett said the shoulder’s doing great. But listen, I need to talk to you, right away, about something, um, personal. It’s _really_ important. Any chance you could come by my place later this afternoon, or this evening?”

Johnny could hear Cap’s deep voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“That’s fine. Thanks a lot, Cap. I’ll see you then.”

Mike hung up the phone and passed it back to Johnny. “He’ll come by at a quarter to five, before he picks one of the girls up from some kind of lesson.”

“Heck of a show we’ve got lined up for the afternoon,” remarked Johnny.

“Yep.” Mike leaned into Johnny for support.

“Hey, we’ll be fine. Okay?”

Mike nodded, not even up to a Stokeresque monosyllabic response.

Johnny pulled him closer, hugging him in. “If I know you, which I think I do, what you’re thinking right now is, _what if this is all a huge mistake_? Am I right?”

Mike nodded.

“Well _I_ don’t think it is, and I don’t think _you_ do, either. Do you?” asked Johnny.

Mike shook his head.

“And you’re thinking, it’s only been a week, this is crazy, right?”

Mike nodded again.

“Wanna know what I’m thinking?” Johnny didn’t give Mike time to reply. “I’m thinking, it’s only been a week, but it feels like forever, and I can already tell this is different from anything I’ve ever been in before. I think about next week, next month, next year, and I want them all to be with you. And that’s what I’m thinking, Mike.”

“Me too,” Mike said softly.

“And I wanna do everything we can to not screw it up.”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Me too.”

They sat silently for a minute or two more. “And now I better get a three-minute power shower,” said Mike, “‘cause damn.”

“That’s for sure. I’ll clean up the kitchen while you clean up Mike Stoker.” Johnny stood up and pulled Mike to his feet. He whispered into Mike’s ear. “But I do like to get you real messy.”

Mike smacked Johnny’s rear, and headed for the shower. Minutes later, he emerged, clean, well-kempt, and dressed. Johnny was finishing the dishes, still in his towel.

“Uh, Johnny? Roy’s gonna be here any second, and you’re still in a towel.”

“Huh? Oh, guess I better get decent—don’t wanna make poor Roy any more nervous than he’s gonna be, right?” Johnny dashed to the bedroom and threw on fresh jeans and a t-shirt, and finished making himself presentable just as the doorbell rang.

“Lemme get it,” said Johnny. He swung the door open. “Hey, Roy; c’mon in.”

Roy had that nervous look, the one Johnny associated with Roy feeling like he himself had done something really wrong. He led Roy into the living room, where Mike was sitting on the end of the couch farthest from the recliner that he figured Johnny would suggest to Roy.

Johnny didn’t disappoint. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the recliner. He joined Mike on the couch. Close enough not to look like he was keeping his distance from Mike, but not so close as to upset Roy.

Roy sat down and looked back and forth at the two of them. “I guess I see why you weren’t telling, Johnny. I’m happy for you guys, honest, no problems from me, but you gotta know how complicated this is gonna be. And _that’s_ what makes me nervous.”

“Complicated,” said Johnny. “Ain’t that the truth.” He paused. “And thanks for not being pissed, or freaked.”

“Oh, but Johnny, I _am_ freaked. Not because of the guy-guy thing—that’s fine with me. But because, well, I thought I knew you better. Jesus, Johnny, it’s like you chase girls for a living, and then suddenly you find true love and it’s with a guy?”

“For cryin’ out loud, Roy, what was I gonna do, say to you, ‘oh, by the way, all those days off where you ask me what I’m doing and I say I’m heading up to Santa Barbara, it’s to meet men, someplace where I won’t get fired for it?’ Would that have been a good idea? No. So, I’m _sorry_ it’s a surprise to you that I date both men and women, but it really wasn’t something I could share with people from work.” Johnny managed to stay seated, but his foot was jiggling wildly, setting up a vibration in the entire room. “Not even you. Sorry.”

Roy sat silently for a minute or so. “I guess I’m annoyed with myself for having no idea. And maybe a little annoyed with you, too. I mean, I always thought we were really good friends, and that we knew a lot about each other, right?”

“We _are_ really good friends, and we _do_ know a lot about each other. But this part of me, Roy? I don’t think you really get how hard I have to work to keep it separate from anything and anyone having to do with work—it’s really more like it’s a whole ‘nother life. So I got really, really good at compartmentalizing my life. And I got really, really good at exaggerating my exploits with the girls.

“’Cause you know what? Chicks just don’t dig me. I mean, they start out thinking they do, but then they don’t. Usually after the first date they never call me back even if I _do_ call them, or maybe we’d go out once more and one of us would say things just weren’t going to work out. And on the rare occasion that something _did_ go past the second or third date, the job was always the killer. Nobody was interested enough to be able to get past the realities of my work.”

Roy sat back, and looked at the two of them. “Honest, I’m totally fine with this, but I’m just really, really worried that work is gonna be a huge problem. If I were Cap, and I found out in a few weeks or months that this had been going on, I’d be real pissed. If I found out right now, I’d just want one of you to transfer.”

Mike spoke up. “We’re talking to Cap later. And I’m putting in for a transfer for when I come off medical leave.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. “Okay, so you _have_ actually thought about reality. Once I put it all together, I was afraid, from how Gage here has been acting, that you were both so lovestruck that you hadn’t thought about how this was gonna play out when you were back on shift together.”

“We thought about it, Roy. We talked about it. Hell, we fought about it—Stoker style,” Johnny grinned over to Mike. “And we think we’re set to do the right thing. What do you think, Roy?”

Roy looked at them seriously. “I think you’re absolutely right to not be working together. There’s _so_ many reasons how that could be a disaster. And I’m glad you’re telling Cap. He doesn’t like to be blindsided. And, one more thing—Mike, you need to have a really good explanation, for other people, about why you’re transferring. Everyone at the station likes you, and they deserve an explanation, and you can’t tell them the real one.”

“The commute around the city is a bitch on the way home when I’m tired. Gas prices are going up and up.” said Mike. “I’m looking at other opportunities, like arson investigation. I’ve already taken a lot of the required courses to be an investigator. I know I don’t want to be a Captain, and with the Captain’s exams coming up, there’ll be plenty of openings for engineers, maybe something closer to home. None of these are lies. Not the entire truth, either.”

Roy sat back. “Huh. Okay, I guess you’ve thought about this pretty carefully.”

Johnny scowled. “Roy, we’re not kids.”

Roy put a hand up in defense. “I know, I know. But honestly, my first thought was, the job is everything to both you guys, and there’s so many nasty ways this could affect your jobs. I just didn’t want to see either of you get crushed by the bureaucracy.”

“Thanks, Roy,” Mike said quietly.

They all sat there looking at each other. Roy was still looking like he was about to burst some capillaries, and Mike looked like he wanted to make himself fold up and disappear. So Johnny took charge.

“Okay, we’re all adults here—at least most of the time. So spill it, guys,” said Johnny. “You first, Mike,” he ordered.

“Um, Roy? How’d you know?” Mike asked nervously.

Roy massaged his temples, making Johnny want to run for the aspirin. “Well, I had a little help from my highly observant wife.”

“Joanne?” Johnny said. “But she hasn’t even seen us since—I mean, huh?”

“Look, Johnny, I knew you were, um, smitten, with someone we all knew, all right? Because why wouldn’t you say who it was, otherwise. And Jo and I got to talking about how maybe the Mystery Woman was someone way outside your usual, um, scope of practice, but still someone we knew, and then Joanne just popped out with ‘what if it’s not a woman?’ And that was all it took.”

Roy looked over to Mike. “And Mike, I swear, I had not said a _thing_ to her about anything you told me. She just kind of, well, knew already.”

Mike nodded. “I know you wouldn’t tell her. And I guess the women probably talk about stuff we don’t wanna know about anyhow, so that’s something, too.”

Roy grimaced. “Yeah, that’s the truth. She said something about that. I shut down _that_ line of conversation in a hurry, let me tell you.”

Johnny shook his head. “I don’t even wanna know, Roy.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” Roy cleared his throat. “But here’s something I _do_ wanna know. I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but … how’d this, uh, happen?”

Mike and Johnny looked at each other. Mike shrugged.

“Camping trip, Roy. We kinda … got to talking about serious life stuff,” said Johnny. “And the rest is kinda personal.” Because really, the details were none of Roy’s business.

Roy shook his head. “And there I was trying to keep you guys separated. Shows what I know.”

Mike spoke up. “Given what you _did_ know, I guess it was nice of you to try. Didn’t work out the way you planned, though.” Mike smiled. “I don’t remember much of what happened when I was flying on the morphine, but I do remember you said I was barking up the wrong tree if I was interested in this guy here.”

“Yeah,” said Roy, “well. Shows what I know.”

Johnny looked seriously at Roy. “So, are we okay? You and me?”

“Yeah, Junior, we’re okay. And don’t worry—I know how to keep my mouth shut.” Roy stood up. “On that note, I oughta let you guys get on with your day. You’re talking to Cap today, right?”

“Yep,” said Mike. “My place, later this afternoon.”

“Well,” said Roy, “you can tell him I know about all this, if it helps any.”

“Thanks, Roy; it might,” said Johnny. “And I’m sorry I had to keep you in the dark, but, well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Johnny went to let Roy out.

“Oh, I almost forgot. It feels totally absurd to put this on you guys right now, but I promised I’d ask. Joanne wanted me to see if you guys wanted to come over Friday for dinner. If you’re comfortable with that.” He stopped at the door and looked back at both of them. “I’m comfortable with that, and so is Joanne. Okay?”

Mike and Johnny looked at each other.

“Can we let you know later? After we talk with Cap?” asked Johnny.

“Sure, no problem. Give us a call later, if you want. Good luck with Cap.”

Roy exited, and Johnny closed the door after him. He leaned his forehead against the door, and let out a huge breath that it felt like he’d been holding for a week. Mike slipped up behind him, and wrapped his arms around Johnny, resting his chin on Johnny’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I think so.” Johnny sighed. “I guess I just feel like a jerk.”

“Why?” asked Mike.

“I dunno, I mean, Roy’s been my best buddy for a real long time, and I guess I just feel bad for keeping such a huge secret. It seemed completely reasonable and normal for the last six years, but now I just feel like a total jerk.”

“I don’t really know what else you were supposed to do, Johnny. I mean, what’d you call Roy the other day? Mr. Traditional?”

Johnny snorted. “Yeah, that’s right. Guess that’s not totally fair, is it.”

“You know what’s not fair? It’s not fair that we have to go through all the shenanigans we’re dealing with today. _That’s_ not fair. And that we can’t go out together in our county of seven million people? _That’s_ not fair. And that I couldn’t ask you out the day you walked into Station 51? _That’s_ not fair. So yeah, you’re right, it _wasn’t_ fair to pre-judge Roy, but that’s the way the world works. The world isn’t fair.”

“Mike?” squeaked Johnny. “You’re squeezin’ me like a boa constrictor.”

Mike let go hastily. “Sorry. I’m just—ah, I dunno.”

“Yeah.” Johnny turned to face Mike. “You know what we oughta do?”

“What?”

“Let’s go to your place, and just lie around in the yard, and not do anything. Lie in the grass, read something totally mindless maybe, I dunno. Your place is upwind from the smog, so it’ll almost be like really being outside.”

“That sounds pretty good,” admitted Mike. “I don’t like to get this stressed out.”

“And then when Cap comes, well, we’ll handle it.”

“Yeah, Johnny. We will.” He pulled Johnny to him for a nice, normal, non-boa-constrictor hug and kiss. “C’mon, grab some stuff, and we’ll go to my place. We can pick up your Rover at the station on the way.”

“’kay.” He sighed. “Least I’ve got tomorrow off. I’m totally wiped out.”

 **TBC**


	12. Work It Out

**Work it out**

Hank Stanley rounded the corner onto Mike Stoker’s street. At first, when he’d gotten the urgent call from Stoker, he thought he’d have to finagle a deal with his wife to go do something work-related on a day off, but Mrs. Stanley was a big fan of Mike’s, and when she heard he had something serious going on, she happily let her husband take the time.

Hank was dreading this conversation at Stoker’s house. It sounded like Mike’s shoulder was doing well, but that maybe Mike himself was not doing well with so much down time. Medical leave was never easy, especially for the guys without families. But Hank always worried that Stoker might be kind of depressed at the best of times, and having nothing to do with himself day in and day out was probably driving Mike insane.

And then there was Gage’s odd behavior around Mike during the camping trip. After their first day of camping, Johnny had practically ignored Roy, even though the two of them were the best of friends. Roy hadn’t seemed to mind that Johnny was hanging around with Mike; it might even have been kind of a break for Roy. Roy and Cap had certainly had some good man-to-man chats during the trip—Cap had plenty to say about the impossible ages his daughters were at, and Roy had listened with interest, and possibly dread.

Then, John had been at Mike’s place the evening after the camping trip. Granted, there was nothing odd about that, really; they’d been getting along really well on the trip, and everyone was trying to help Mike out around his house while he was recuperating. It’s just what they did for the guys who lived by themselves. Even though Serena was probably there that evening, Mike might’ve needed help with something heavy, or with airing out camping gear, or some other guy thing.

But the nonsense at the station about Gage having had some really hot date the night they got back from the trip, and the look on John’s face when Hank had nearly said that Johnny couldn’t have had a date because he was helping out at Stoker’s that evening... Well, that was all a bit worrying to Hank. For a second, he’d even thought maybe there was something going on between his engineer and his paramedic, but after he’d thought about it later, he realized how absurd that idea was. After all, Mike had been with Serena for years, and Johnny—well, Johnny was an incorrigible womanizer. So, the disturbing and disappointing conclusion Hank had come to was that Johnny had gone off the deep end and made a play for Stoker’s girl Serena, and that it had been successful.

That was really the only rational explanation that covered all the bases. It bothered Hank—a lot—to think that Johnny would even consider a cheap move like that. Sure, Gage was juvenile as hell half the time, but Hank had always recognized that on the inside, Gage was a thoughtful person. He’d never seen or heard of John purposely doing anything that would truly be offensive to another person. Which made sense, really, because Johnny really took it hard when others treated him poorly. Getting dumped on by others was the one thing that ever really shut Johnny up.

Hank pulled his Oldsmobile into Stoker’s driveway, put it in park, shut off the engine, and sat there for a minute or so to collect himself. On the one hand, he was going to have to tell Stoker that he needed to fight his own battles. But if Gage had actually gotten involved with Mike’s girlfriend, someone would have to transfer. Hank hated the idea of splitting up his paramedic team, but if Hank’s thinking was correct, Gage had it coming to him. He couldn’t actually fire Gage for stealing another guy’s girl, but he could sure as hell get him away from his seemingly fragile but highly competent engineer, and keep the shift sane, if stunned.

Hank unfolded himself from the front seat, slammed the door, and trudged slowly up the walkway. He thought Mike must have the TV on, since he could hear voices.

Mike answered the door and let Hank in.

“Hey, Cap; thanks a lot for coming over. I really need to talk to you. Come on in the living room.”

Hank took off his size 13s and left them at the door. He could smell the coffee—Mike always made the best coffee of anyone at the station, and was notorious for dumping out the last cup or two from the pot if it smelled stale to him.

Cap turned into the living room, and stopped short. There, sitting cross-legged at one end of the couch, was John Gage. There were three mugs of coffee on coasters on the coffee table in the center of the room.

 _O … kay … So_ not _girlfriend poaching._

“Hiya Cap,” said Gage, looking miserable.

“Have a seat, Cap.” Mike ushered Hank to a chair that matched the sofa Gage was seated on. Mike took the other end of the sofa.

“Cap,” said Mike, “there’s no graceful or easy way to say this, so I’m just saying it. Johnny and I are, um, involved with each other. And it’s serious.”

Cap looked back and forth between the two of them. They both looked deadly serious.

Cap relaxed, and laughed. “Is that it?” he said. “Man, Stoker, you really had me worried for a while.”

Mike and Johnny looked at each other.

“Um, Cap,” Mike said nervously, “I don’t think you get it. We’re in a relationship. We’re dating each other, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“I knew what you meant.” _What, do they think I’m some fragile Victorian flower?_ “I’m just relieved—I thought—well, never mind what I thought. I can’t say that I’m not incredibly surprised, though. I never thought both you guys were anything other than straight as arrows.”

“Well, Cap, in our line of work you hafta put on that show,” Mike said blandly. He hoped to let Cap do most of the talking.

“I have to say,” said Hank, “the thought crossed my mind—just once—that you were Gage’s mystery date. But it just didn’t add up, what with you being with Serena, and,” he pointed to John, “you being _the_ most unstoppable skirt chaser I have ever worked with.”

“Serena and I aren’t actually a couple,” Mike said softly.

“And I don’t chase just skirts, for lack of a better phrase,” Johnny added reluctantly.

Hank sat there and stared at his two men. Mike looked like a moderately loud noise would shatter him. Johnny was a shade of puce he usually only turned when he was ill or injured, and was looking studiously at one of those annoying cards that falls out of magazines. He began busily ripping it into tiny shreds. A small, snowy pile of bits was forming on Mike’s coffee table.

“Well,” said Cap, “this is complicated.” He took a sip of his coffee, and put it back down on the coaster. “I don’t suppose it will help any for me to say ‘at ease.’”

Mike shook his head, and Johnny just kept on shredding his magazine card.

Cap sighed. “Okay, here’s the deal, boys. Officially, I know nothing about this. Got it?”

“Got it,” the two said in unison.

“Unofficially? I don’t understand this whole thing, not one iota, but that’s my problem, and I’ll try my best not to make it yours, because I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: what you do on your own time is none of my concern. Unless,” he cautioned, one finger raised to emphasize his point, “it interferes with the job,”

“So. Even though I officially know nothing, I can’t let … whatever this is … interfere with the shift. If it’s a fling, or if it’s till death do you part, or anywhere in between, you can’t work together. Not an option. Understood?”

Johnny just nodded, not looking at Cap.

Mike nodded, but also responded. “Yeah, we know. We already discussed it. I’m putting in for a transfer.”

“Good man.” Cap thought for a second. “Let me make some calls—see what’s out there. I have to make a placement recommendation on your request form anyhow.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked into the distance for a moment. “That might be just the thing,” he said to himself. “Huh.”

“Mike,” said Hank, “I know a Captain that would be a pretty good match. I’ll give him a call and see if he’s got anything coming up.” He frowned. “And you should think of a public reason why you’re transferring. Has to go on the form anyhow.”

Mike nodded. “Commute’s lousy, gas is expensive, gotta stretch my wings a bit professionally, all that jazz.”

“Good. That’s fine,” said Hank. “And John?”

Johnny looked up from his pile of confetti.

“I need your head out of the clouds on shift, all right?”

“Yessir,” Johnny said sheepishly.

Cap inspected his junior paramedic. “Gage, I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “If you can behave normally—I mean, normally for _you_ —I’ll keep Chet off your back. Because his behavior has been getting a bit out of hand.”

“Uh, Cap? I should really fight my own battles, dontcha think?”

Cap lowered his brows at Johnny. “Gage, this is not a schoolyard we’re talking about. It’s a fire station. And my job is to make sure that everything goes smoothly, and that everyone can work together well, for the primary purpose of keeping you guys safe. And since you’re not really in a position to talk to Chet about why he just needs to lay the hell off, I can just plain make it an order. I mean, I’m sick of the constant nagging and needling, and it’s not even directed at me.”

Johnny stopped his confetti-making, and looked up. “Okay, Cap. Thanks.”

Hank looked at his men. They looked about as far from lovestruck as you could get—more like shell-shocked. “Just answer me two things, boys.”

“We’ll try,” Mike replied.

“Have you worked any shifts together while you were, um, involved?” Cap asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but if so, I’ve got to work on my observation skills.”

“No,” said Mike. “You didn’t miss anything.”

“Good,” said Hank. _Whew_.

“What’s the other thing, Cap?” asked Johnny, who seemed to have finished his destruction project.

Cap hesitated, not sure how, or even whether, to ask what he _really_ wanted to know. He decided to take a lesson from Stoker’s introduction of the topic at hand, and just plain ask. He looked back and forth between the two miserable-looking men. “Are you two happy?”

And that was all it took. Johnny sat up straighter, looking like he’d just put down a hundred pounds of equipment, and looked over at Mike. Mike actually cracked a small smile. _And darned if Mike’s eyes don’t look the teensiest bit misty_ , thought Hank.

“Yeah, Cap,” said Johnny, trademark grin back in place. “We are. We really, really are.”

Cap felt like maybe he’d set something heavy aside as well. “That’s what I needed to see just now—the two of you actually _looking_ happy.” He looked back at Stoker.

“Mike, I’ll get back to you about this Captain I was thinking of. He’s at 93s, which, to be honest, is probably just about as many miles from here as 51s, but away from the city, so you wouldn’t have to go through or around the city like you do now. He’s only been a captain for a year, but he has trouble keeping people, partly because the station is so far off the beaten path, but partly because he’s, well, a bit unorthodox.”

“How so, Cap?” asked Mike.

“Well, let’s just say that before he was drafted and sent to ‘Nam, he lived on a commune. He couldn’t readjust to that after being in the service, but doesn’t exactly fit your stereotype of a fireman either. He was a lineman when I was an engineer, um, several years ago, shall we say. He’s a sharp guy, and he moved up really fast in the department. Why don’t I give him a call before I say too much more, hm?”

“Okay, Cap, but I’m game for anything you think would work,” said Mike. “Would he have to, um, know? I mean, about me?”

“Well, Mike, that’s up to you. I can tell you for sure, though, that it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Mike thought about this a second. “I guess you could tell him I’m gay, but not a word about who I’m with. And if he can’t leave that be, then I know I can’t work there.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “not personally ready to go there yet.” He looked right up at Cap. “And I’d— _we’d_ —really appreciate it if, well, I know you won’t say anything, but...”

“Not a word,” Cap promised. He checked his wristwatch. “Geez, I’d better go. Gotta pick up Tricia.”

“Okay. Thanks, Cap,” said Mike. “I’m, well, I’m awfully glad you’re not gonna sack us.”

“Nope, not gonna sack you, you twits. I’m glad you talked to me now, though, ‘cause I don’t like surprises. And this was enough of a surprise without it going on under my nose for months.”

“Sorry, Cap,” said Johnny. “I promise, I’ll try to behave on shift on Thursday.”

“All right, John. I’ll have my eyes open, you know.”

“You always do, Cap. You always do,” said Johnny. “In the good sort of way, I mean.”

The door closed, and Hank headed back to his Delta 88. _I sure hope those two know what they’re doing. But at least I know why I was worried about Stoker. And call me crazy, but I think he’s in good hands._

 **TBC**


	13. Fix Me Up

**Fix Me Up**

As Captain Stanley left the house, Mike closed the front door quietly. “Well, thank goodness that’s the end of that show,” he said. “You know, I didn’t do a damned thing today, and had a nice nap, too, but I’m totally wiped out.”

“You know it, man,” said Johnny, who had sprawled himself out on the couch. “C’mere,” he said, patting the couch. He flattened himself against the back of the couch to make room for Mike. Mike stretched out, facing Johnny—the two of them just barely fit without the outside person being in peril.

Mike snuggled his face into Johnny’s neck and loosed a heavy sigh.

“You okay?” Johnny asked.

“I’m great,” Mike’s muffled voice replied. “I just feel, well, exposed.”

Johnny buried his face in Mike’s hair. “Yeah, that’s a good word. My secrets were so secret I even forgot I was keepin’ ‘em.”

“Cap’ll do right by us, though,” Mike said.

The two stayed wrapped together on Mike’s couch for many minutes, not talking, just holding on to each other. Johnny chuckled quietly all of a sudden.

“Whasso funny?” Mike asked contentedly.

“Not funny, really. I just like smelling _my_ shampoo in _your_ hair, is all.”

More minutes slid by, with neither man wanting to move from where they were.

“Mike, c’n I ask you something?” Johnny said suddenly.

“Of course. Anything.”

“I guess,” Johnny started tentatively, “um, I guess I kinda have this idea that maybe you were with someone for a long time, and that maybe it busted up not all that long ago.”

Johnny felt Mike’s body suddenly tense up. “Yeah. About nine months ago. We were together for six years. Four good ones, a not so great one, and then a lousy one.”

“He lived here, right?”

“Yeah. How could you tell?”

“Oh, just places where it looked like there should be stuff, but—no stuff.”

“That’s about right.” Mike unburied his face to make eye contact. “It’s okay. Sucked at the time, but a week later I knew I was better off. A month later I was kicking myself for not ending it earlier. And I’ll bet you can guess what _one_ of the problems was.”

“The job,” Johnny said without hesitation. “It’s always the job.”

“Yep. He wanted me to have a nice, stable nine-to-five job, where I’d be home for dinner every night. But instead, he got what he got. And I guess maybe I loved the job more than I loved him.”

“Or,” said Johnny, “you could say _he_ didn’t love _you_ enough to take your calling along with the rest of you.”

Mike sat up. “You know, I never once thought of it that way. Not _once_. Huh.”

“Yeah, well, Mike, I think sometimes, just _maybe_ , you think things are all your fault when they’re not.”

“You think so, huh?” Mike said wryly.

“Yep. Anxiety lobe.”

“Oh,” added Mike, “and speaking of anxiety, don’t worry about us ever running into Larry—that’s his name. He moved to Boston.”

“Okay,” said Johnny. “I wasn’t worried.”

“Figures.” Mike stretched, and his shoulder cracked.

“Hey, you do your PT yet today?” asked Johnny.

“Um, didn’t get to it. Oughta, huh.”

“Yeah—heat first, help from yours truly during, and ice after. Oh, and pizza and beer after that,” said Johnny.

Mike laughed. “That’s your prescription, huh?”

“Yep. I’ll fix you up. I can go get dinner while you’re icing your shoulder.”

Mike went to get the heating pad, and a refill of coffee. “You know, I’m gonna be old and fat in a month, at this rate.”

“Well, we’ll just go for a little run in the morning, how ‘bout that.”

“Uh, sure, long as you can go slow enough not to kill me. And as long as ‘a little run’ isn’t ten miles or something outrageous like that.”

Johnny opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Or we could hit the beach, run on the beach—that’s real good exercise—and then go for a swim. We’ve got all day.”

Mike sat on the couch, heating pad on shoulder. “Um, can you grab that calendar off the bulletin board there? I have a nagging feeling about something...”

Johnny brought the calendar over.

“Shit, yeah, thought so. I have to go to some school thing with Serena at four.”

Johnny shrugged. “That’s okay—I probably oughta do some errands around then anyhow. Wanna just hit the beach first thing in the morning, and come back at like two? It gets awful hot by then anyhow.”

“Sure you don’t mind? I could cancel with Serena, if it’s a problem...”

“Hey.” Johnny sat on the coffee table right in front of Mike. “Look. You have a good deal worked out with Serena, right? I’m not gonna waltz in and mess that up. What would be the point of that?”

“Thanks,” Mike said softly. “I guess I’m not used to, um, flexibility.” He twisted to adjust the heating pad on his shoulder.

“Yeah, sounds like not.” Johnny said, hopping onto the back of the sofa and helping with the heating pad. “Hey, here’s an idea—does Serena’s real girlfriend need a fake boyfriend?”

Mike, having just taken a sip of coffee, unfortunately laughed out his nose. “Who, you? Oh good lord, that would be … no. Let’s just say, nobody would believe it for half a second. If even that long.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Nope, Johnny, it was a good idea, but, well, you’ll see.”

“Um, see what?”

“Let’s put it this way. Marilyn’s a gym teacher. She’s six feet tall, weighs probably one-eighty—was a big-time college rower at UCLA—and could probably knock either one of us on our asses in two seconds flat. She practiced with me last time I had to recertify on the fire department physical agility test, and she would’ve been able pass with flying colors. I guess she’s not bad looking, but, she’s not a waifish blonde—not by a long shot. So, unless you’ve had a sudden and drastic change in your ‘type,’ nobody’d buy it.”

“Well, I dunno, Mike; maybe that’s why I’ve been so quiet about my mystery date. Remember what Roy said about Joanne thinking maybe whoever it was fell way outside my ‘type?’ So maybe I’ve been hushing up that I’m dating an Amazon dominatrix.” Johnny hopped back down to a normal seat on the couch.

“Okay, Amazon, maybe; but dominatrix? You’ve definitely never met Marilyn—she’s actually really quiet and shy, and doesn’t come across at all butch.” Mike looked thoughtfully at Johnny. “You know, though, on second thought, crazy as it sounds, this idea is growing on me. Lemme run it past Serena tomorrow. Who, by the way, is going to need to know about you and me.”

Johnny shrugged. “Fine by me—she’s probably got the keeping-a-secret thing down pat.”

“And she’s gonna be damned amused, too.” Mike unplugged the heating pad, and stretched his shoulder again. “For a while, a few months ago, she kept trying to convince me to test the waters with you, so to speak.”

“Well, come on in, the water’s great,” Johnny leered at Mike.

“Oh, no,” Mike laughed, “you’re the one who’s supposed to be keeping me on track with my PT, right?I wouldn’t want to have to explain to Carol that I didn’t do my exercises because my sex-crazed boyfriend was keeping me too busy with other things.”

“Okay, later, then,” said Johnny. “For now, boring old passive range of motion. Ready?” He took hold of Mike’s upper arm gently, kissing his shoulder joint.

“Yeah. I like your way a lot better than Carol’s, you know.”

“Say when,” Johnny said, raising Mike’s arm straight out to the side. The arm passed the horizontal point, and Johnny stopped as he heard and felt a pop.

“’s okay,” said Mike. “It’s just doing that a lot these days. Keep on going.”

Johnny continued to raise the arm, well past horizontal, through an entirely normal range of motion. “Wow,” he said. “That’s the whole range, Mike. That’s really great! How far can you do it on your own?”

Mike grinned. “Most of the way. Watch.” And he did it. “Still pretty weak, though.”

“What’ve you got for weights?” asked Johnny. “Gotta start with that, since you can actually move it.”

“Got a whole bunch of stuff in the far bay of the garage,” said Mike, “if you don’t mind going out there and grabbing—no—actually, let’s just go out there.”

Mike led Johnny out the side door and through the short breezeway between the house and the double garage. “The garage was an add-on, about five years before I inherited this place. Takes up half the lot, but it’s worth it.”

In the back of the second bay, Mike had a good set of dumbbells of various weights, an adjustable bench and rack, and a bar and a set of plates for the really heavy work.

“Right on!” said Johnny. “I didn’t know you had all this stuff!”

“Yeah, I’ve been picking it up over the ten years I’ve lived here.”

“Ten years? Yeah, you said something about inheriting this place—what’s the story there?”

“Well, to make a long story short, I had this uncle who was a firefighter. He was my dad’s brother, but a lot older. No wife or kids. He wrote into his will that the house would get split equally among any nephews who were firefighters at the time of his death, or else get sold and the proceeds would go to the Widows and Children’s fund. He died young of a heart attack, and I got the house.”

“Wow,” said Johnny. “I always kinda wondered how you could afford to own a house, even a small one like this, in a neighborhood like this.”

“Yeah—it was a lucky break. The taxes are a bitch, so I pretty much pay like a monthly rent into an escrow account so I don’t screw myself.”

“Smart. And speaking of smart …” Johnny picked up a five-pound dumbbell and handed it to Mike. “No pain, no gain is a stupid way to think about getting yourself fit again. You hurt yourself again, and you go backwards, not forwards.” He looked at Mike, and continued. “You know what to do, right?”

“Yep.” Mike worked his way through a series of exercises for strengthening the shoulder muscles weakened by extended disuse. He diligently did three sets of each exercise, and then, scowling, handed the small weight back to Johnny. “I don’t see how I’m possibly going to be back to work in three weeks. I can barely imagine setting up a stepstool, let alone throwing an extension ladder. Or starting a K-12. Opening a fucking hydrant, especially some of those really stiff new ones? And working with a charged line? Forget it.” He huffed in frustration.

“Well, one thing I’ve learned is that just starting to get strong again is the most frustrating part. Now that you’ve got the movement back, you’ll use those muscles more. And you’ll see—you’ll be up to ten pounds in a couple of days. It goes faster than you think. But you’re done for now. I look into my crystal ball, and I see: ice, beer, and pizza.”

They headed back through the breezeway, and into the kitchen. Mike popped a couple of aspirin, while Johnny made Mike an ice pack, wrapped it in a towel, and settled Mike on the couch.

“How ‘bout I go pick up a pizza somewhere, and grab some beer, and we can see what’s on TV,”said Johnny.

“Great – there’s a menu on the fridge for a great little hole-in-the-wall pizza place. It’s just around the corner, and there’s a store next door where you could pick up the brews.”

“Oh yeah, I passed this place on my way here. Anything you hate on pizza?” asked Johnny, grabbing the menu.

“Nah—surprise me,” Mike suggested.

“Ooh, that sounds like a challenge. Maybe I’ll save the really good surprises for later, though.” Johnny grabbed the keys to the Rover.

“Hey, Johnny? Can you get some actual _good_ beer?”

“Uh, like Budweiser, or whaddaya mean?”

“No, I mean _not_ Bud, _not_ Miller, _not_ Pabst.”

“Um... help me out here, Mike. Name some names.”

Mike rattled off four or five brands, while Johnny just stood there, keys in hand.

“Never heard of ‘em. C’mon, Mike, it’s just beer!” Johnny complained.

“Okay, so you know I’m picky about my coffee, right? Now you know I’m picky about my beer, too. I’ll drink whatever when I’m with the gang, but at home? I just like what I like,” Mike said firmly.

Johnny shook his head. “All right, but I’m gonna get some plain old regular for myself, too. Don’t like to get fancy. See you in a few,” he said.

“Hang on a second.” Mike grabbed his wallet and held a tenner out to Johnny.

“Nah, you get it next time.”

As Johnny headed out the door, Mike heard him mutter, “ _Good_ beer. It’s just _beer_ , for cryin’ out loud.”

Mike smiled at this. He didn’t have any illusions that Johnny would like, or even try, any of the obscure or foreign brews he preferred. And he was glad—glad that Johnny was just going to be himself, and let Mike be himself. No pretending, no trying to change the other person.

Mike grabbed a magazine from the rack next to the couch. A firefighting publication. Nope—he put it back. _Sports Illustrated_. He put that back, too. _Life_ magazine—that was more like it. No pressure. He re-adjusted the ice pack, and settled in with his magazine.

Yet again, he didn’t read a word. He sat there on his couch, grinning like an idiot, thinking about surprises. He and Johnny had already surprised each other a couple of times. Mike—well, Mike had been supremely surprised that Johnny was interested in men in general, and him in specific. And, he’d been surprised how nonchalant and flexible Johnny seemed about everything. It was a far cry from the days with Larry, where everything had to be _his_ way; where any change of plans, any bump in the road would set off an argument. Not even an argument—just increasingly quiet resentment, laced with backhanded remarks. Larry had needled Mike mercilessly about his anxious tendencies, whereas Johnny took it all in stride and tried to temper the Stoker anxiety with the Gage flexibility.

And Mike realized he had surprised Johnny, too. That morning, when Johnny had planned to come straight to Mike’s house after the all-nighter shift but had needed to go home, Johnny seemed surprised and touched by Mike’s offer to pretty much come over and take care of him. Mike had the distinct impression that none of the people Johnny had ever been involved with took their time with him, paid attention to what he really needed, or, well, took care of him at all. Or, possibly, that Johnny didn’t let people get close enough to do that. Probably a combination, Mike decided.

Johnny had said he had a tendency to push people away, rather than letting them in. So far, Mike hadn’t felt any pushing. Not even any blocking, or resistance. If anything, what he was feeling was a bit of gentle tugging. And he liked it. A lot.

After he gloated silently for a while, Mike picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

A voice replied on the other end.

“Hey, Serena, it’s Mike. Boy, have I got some news for you!”

~!~!~!~!~

Johnny placed the order at the counter of the small pizzeria, and went around the corner to the store where Mike had suggested he go for beer. He grabbed a six-pack of something plain for himself, and then went in search of one of the brands Mike had mentioned. He turned the corner to an aisle with a shelf labeled “Specialty Beers,” and figured this was the place.

Yep.

Probably twenty kinds of stuff he’d never heard of, and all of the ones on the list Mike had rattled off. He grabbed one at random, and went to the register to check out.

The clerk sat lazily at the counter. A glint of light from one of the neon displays in the window reflected off one of his earrings, contrasting with the black cat that was perched on the edge of the counter. Johnny scratched it behind the ears. “Bet you keep the mice away, dontcha?” he said to the animal.

“Lemme guess,” the clerk said, “one six is for you, and one’s for your friend.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, looking up from the cat. “How’d you know it wasn’t just for me?”

“Because, pal, no _one_ person would drink both of these brews. Just wouldn’t happen. In fact, I’ll bet this Bud’s for you, right?”

“How do you figure that?” Johnny said suspiciously.

The clerk handed Johnny his change. “’Cause there’s only one guy in this neighborhood who buys that other stuff, and you ain’t him.”

Johnny pocketed his change, and grabbed the six-packs. “Well, you guessed right,” he said on his way out.

The clerk watched him leave. “No, sirree, you ain’t him, and boy, do I wish I _was_. ‘Cause mm, mmm,” he said to the cat sitting on the counter.

~!~!~!~!~

Johnny put the beer on the floor of the passenger’s seat, and the pizza he’d just picked up on the seat itself. He hoped Mike wouldn’t mind the extra onions on the sausage-pepper-onion pizza, but heck, he’d said surprise him, and they’d both be eating it anyhow. And, clever boy that he was, Johnny had stowed a toothbrush in his backpack.

He drove the short distance back to Mike’s place and parked the Rover in the driveway. He grabbed the pizza and stacked the two six-packs on top, and slammed the car door shut with his foot. Johnny debated briefly whether he should ring the bell or not, and decided not. He balanced the whole load on one forearm and walked in, kicking his shoes off at the door. He was surprised to hear Mike laughing. Johnny set the pizza on the counter, tossed the beer in the fridge, and went to the living room to investigate.

“No, I’m _not_ shitting you. Geez, you were pretty much daring me to ask him out, and now you don’t believe me? Hang on, he just got back. I’ll put him on.”

Mike handed the receiver to Johnny, who took it and looked at it blankly.

“It’s Serena,” said Mike. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“Ah,” Johnny said, grinning. “Well, I’ll fix that real quick.” He held the receiver up. “Hey, Serena, it’s John Gage. Sorry I stole your boyfriend.”

Mike laughed, and leaned towards the receiver. “Told you so!” he shouted.

Johnny listened, and then replied, “Well, _I_ don’t know how I can prove to you it’s really me. I dunno, ask me something.”

A pause.

“A beat-up old white Land Rover.”

Another pause.

“Who, Roy? He calls me a lot of things, actually, but you’re probably thinking of ‘Junior.’ Is that good enough?”

Serena said something that Mike couldn’t quite make out, that made Johnny’s jaw drop for a second, and brought out a deep blush, before he was back to his toothy grin.

“Well, that was a pretty darned direct question, so I’ll give you a nice direct answer, which is yes, fantastic, absolutely, very much so, and thank you very much for checking up on that very personal topic.”

Johnny laughed at Serena’s next question.

“I haven’t gotten any complaints from him so far—here, ask him yourself.”

Johnny shook his head as handed the receiver back to Mike. “Very direct, isn’t she?” he commented to Mike.

“He says you’re very direct,” Mike said into the phone. “What is it that I’m not complaining about?”

It was Mike’s turn to blush. “No, definitely not complaining.”

Johnny grinned—he knew exactly what Serena was asking, since he’d just been polled himself.

“What? No! Because ten on a scale of one to ten is, uh, insufficient, that’s why.”

Mike’s blush deepened.

“Jesus Christ, no, I will _not_ give you details, woman! Sheesh, go find your girlfriend if you want someone to talk dirty to you, you maniac.”

Serena said something else on the other end of the line.

“No, I haven’t forgotten—four o’clock, right? Yep. See you then, Bye,” he said, and hung up the phone. Mike looked over at Johnny. “Yep, she’s nothing if not direct, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked by a _girl_ about my sex life with a _guy_. Nope, that was definitely a surprise.” Johnny looked slyly back at Mike. “Ten is insufficient, huh? Glad to hear it.”

“Try twenty,” replied Mike.

“I’ll see your twenty, and raise you ten,” said Johnny, hooking his fingers into two belt loops on Mike’s jeans and pulling him close.

“Hold it, hang on, check this out.” Johnny reluctantly let Mike go, and Mike turned to the bay window lowered the venetian blinds he’d installed the previous day while Johnny was at work. “Presto. No neighbors. Anyhow, what were you saying?”

“So, how do you feel about cold pizza?” Johnny asked.

“It’s gross,” said Mike. “But I _do_ have an oven, so let’s test out those blinds.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinkin’” said Johnny, sinking onto the couch, and pulling Mike down with him.


	14. Take My Time With You

**Item 12: Take My Time With You**

“ _This is all so … clandestine, so hurried. When we get home, I’m gonna lay you down on my bed, and take my time with you,” said Mike._

“ _Mm, I could dig that, and the reverse, too. But you know how bad I am at holding still for any length of time, right?”_

“ _Oh, I think we’ll manage.” Mike smiled into the darkness._

Johnny and Mike spent some quality time on the couch, languidly exploring each other, while still fully clothed. Even with the new blinds on the bay window, Mike was reluctant to do more than that in his living room, just since it had always been so exposed. And then he both felt and heard a gurgling and rumbling sound from next to him. Johnny’s eyes remained half-closed, while his stomach made its complaints known.

Mike, who was wide awake, but enjoying what had turned into a languorous snuggle on the couch, realized Johnny had a dilemma. No, he reconsidered: a _tri_ -lemma. “Hey, babe, you’re falling asleep, and your stomach is growling up a storm.”

“Who, me?” Johnny asked blearily.

“No, the other guy here on the couch with us.” Mike pulled a reluctantly cooperative Johnny to an upright sitting position. “You’ve got yourself a pretty primal conflict here.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Way I see it is, food, sex, sleep: how can a man decide?”

“Good point,” said Johnny, becoming more alert. “I hate to interrupt the moment, but I’ve had it if I don’t get some chow.”

“Great, it’s decided. Let’s see how cold we let that pie get.” Mike pulled Johnny to his feet. They went to the kitchen to inspect the pizza.

“Lukewarm, I’d call it,” said Johnny. “I can still appreciate a room-temperature pizza. How ‘bout you?”

“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count,” said Mike, turning on the oven and digging a round pizza pan out from a cupboard. He slid the pie from the cardboard box onto the pan, and stuck it in the oven. “Let’s give it ten minutes.”

Johnny heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, all _right_ ,” he groused, while grinning. “And after dinner we can watch that Clint Eastwood movie— _Dirty Harry_. You seen it?”

“Of _course_ I’ve seen it. Could see it again, though.” Mike didn’t really care what they watched, and he suspected Johnny would fall asleep anyhow. “It starts in like twenty minutes, so that’s about right.”

“Lemme guess—no eating dinner in front of the idiot box,” said Johnny.

“You’ve got my number, don’t you,” Mike said, as he peeked in the window of the upper oven.

“I hope I’ve got more than just your _number_ ,” Johnny laughed, hugging Mike from behind.

Mike spun himself within Johnny’s grasp, so they were eye to eye. “All of me,” he said quietly. “You’ve got all of me.”

Johnny’s dark eyes sparkled. “Good. And it goes both ways.” He caressed Mike’s cheek and kissed him gently.

They stood there, in the kitchen, in each other’s arms.

“Wow,” said Mike.

“What?”

“If someone had told me two weeks ago what I would be doing in my kitchen right now, I would’ve thought they were totally high.”

“And if they’d told you what you’re gonna be doing in your bedroom later, you would’ve thought _you_ were totally high, right?” teased Johnny.

“Top of Mount Everest,” Mike agreed, nodding. He didn’t say anything more for a second, and then he looked away.

“What’s the matter?”

“Uh, bedroom-wise,” Mike began hesitantly, “is there anything you, uh, like to do, that we’re not, uh, doing?”

Having a congenitally absent anxiety lobe, Johnny was less uncomfortable than Mike with this discussion, so he cleared things up for both of them. “Well, I would top sometimes if a guy really wanted it, but bottom? Nuh-uh. I kind of have, well, trust issues there. Neither way is really for me, to tell the truth. I don’t go for stuff that sends you to the hospital if you do it wrong—I get enough of that at work. I mean, the hospital stuff,” he amended quickly, as Stoker raised an eyebrow at him. He looked carefully at Mike. “You?”

Mike looked at his feet. “I, uh, used to top a lot. But I don’t have any desire to do it with … anyone who doesn’t want to. None. And I wouldn’t miss it.”

Johnny looked intently at Mike. “You sure? ‘Cause with you … well, I trust you.”

“No!” Mike said firmly. “I don’t _ever_ want you to do something you don’t want to do, just because you think I want to. That’s,” he looked away to formulate his words, “that’s not the kind of relationship I want this to be.”

“Okay. Let’s just make a deal—either one of us doesn’t like something, we just say ‘stop,’ and there’s no hard feelings. Ever. No matter what. ‘Cause even though I’m mostly an anything-goes kinda guy, I got my limits. Hey, I mean, who doesn’t?”

“Okay,” said Mike, still looking at his feet. He looked up again. “Honest, I won’t miss that stuff. And I think we’re doing pretty awesome.”

“Yeah,” Johnny grinned, “I seem to remember us being up to about a thirty on a scale of one to ten.”

“And that’s without a coupla naughty tricks I have up my sleeve, babe.”

“See? There ya go, stokin’ me up, and me without my dinner. Speaking of which—I see bubbly cheese.”

“Okay. I’ll grab it—can you grab plates and beers?”

“Yep.” Johnny sprang into action. “Oh yeah, I got you some of that weird stuff. I hope it’s okay with pizza. Guy at the store said he could tell the Budweiser was mine, since, how’d he put it? Oh yeah, only one guy in the neighborhood buys this other stuff, and I ain’t him.”

Mike laughed as he set the pizza on the cooktop. “Did he hit on you?”

“Oh, he would’ve for sure if I just had the Bud, but I’m thinkin’ he figured I was busy. With you. You know him?” Johnny popped the top on his Bud, and carefully poured Mike’s odd-looking brew—it was practically _black_ , for crying out loud—into a glass, just figuring that would be the thing to do.

“Nah, he just knows I buy the unusual stuff. Don’t think I’m his type,” said Mike, dishing slices up onto plates. “Is this _extra_ onions? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it would be good, and that we’re both eating it, and that we both have toothbrushes.”

“Touché,” Mike conceded. “And bon appetit.”

“Aw, just chow down, fancy pants,” Johnny said around a mouthful of pizza. “Yeah, that hits the spot.”

“So what movie should we watch? There’s actually two on tonight— _Jaws_ , and _Dirty Harry_.”

Johnny wrinkled his nose. “ _Jaws_? Seriously? Don’t you puke when you see blood?”

“Uh, it’s the smell, plus the situation, really, and thanks for bringing that up while I’m eating. It has to be real, and luckily on TV there’s no smell-o-vision, but I suppose that by the year 2000 they’ll have that, huh?”

“Who knows. But I get enough blood at work, man. How ‘bout _Dirty Harry_? Not that there’s _no_ blood there, but at least it’s not actually _about_ gory stuff as the main point. Plus, watching _Jaws_ the night before we’re gonna go to the beach? Maybe not such a hot idea.”

“Okay.” Mike smiled, watching Johnny reach for another slice of pizza.

“What?” asked Johnny, grinning back at Mike around his mouthful of pizza.

“Oh, I guess I just like watching you eat. It’s pretty impressive.”

“Well, I learned if I don’t eat fast, everyone’s always waiting for me, then I get embarrassed, and then I quit eatin’, and then I starve. Chain reaction, ya know?”

Mike took a sip of his dark black beer. “That’s the ticket,” he said. “Wanna try it?”

“Sure,” said Johnny, surprising Mike. Mike passed him the glass, and Johnny took a sip. “Huh. Reminds me of Marmite, in some weird way.It’s not bad, exactly, but isn’t really what I think of as beer.”

“Well, I guess we’re even, then. You know what they say in Europe about American beer?” Mike asked.

“No, what?” Johnny reached for a third slice.

“It’s like having sex in a canoe,” Mike said, deadpan.

“Huh?” Johnny crinkled his eyebrows.

“Fucking close to water,” Mike completed the old joke.

Johnny snorted. “Well, to each his own,” he said.

They made short work of the pizza, cleaned up what little there was to take care of, and hit the couch to watch _Dirty Harry_.

As Mike guessed, Johnny fell asleep after ten minutes. Mike managed to arrange Johnny across his lap without waking him, and was content to watch the movie while holding on to Johnny. He combed through and smoothed Johnny’s hair with his left hand, while his right hand rested on Johnny’s chest, moving with the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

Amazingly, Johnny slept through the entirety of the film, waking slightly only once, to smile up at Mike, and intertwine their fingers over his chest, before dozing back off again.

When the movie was over, Mike tried his best to shift Johnny without waking him, so he could turn off the TV before the annoying nightly news came on, and take a trip to the bathroom. Johnny stirred on the couch, but showed no real signs of alertness, so Mike shut off the TV and used the facilities. He washed up, and brushed his teeth—extra onions, he remembered—and then popped into the bedroom to change into comfy flannel pants and a t-shirt.

While he was changing, he wondered what to do about Johnny. Frankly, since neither of them had to be up in the morning, he wanted that man in his bed, _right_ _now_ , and not asleep on the couch. Because he had some plans. But he wasn’t sure it would be fair to just drag Johnny into his bedroom and have his way with him, if he really needed to sleep. He decided to squeeze onto the couch with Johnny to see what would happen. Nothing bad, he was sure.

Mike headed back to the living room couch—but no Johnny. _Huh,_ he thought. _Did he go out to the car?_ He flopped down onto the couch, and consulted his anxiety lobe. No, he decided, there was no reason that Johnny would’ve left.

Then Mike heard the sound of the toilet flushing, and the water running in the bathroom for a couple of minutes. Johnny exited the bathroom looking wide awake, the smell of toothpaste trailing him. He looked left down the short hallway and saw Mike on the couch. He headed to the living room, and knelt in front of Mike.

“Whatcha doin’ in here, Stoker?” Johnny said breathily. “There’s a much better room for us to be in right now.” Still kneeling on the floor, he ran his hands from Mike’s knees up the outsides of his legs and around behind his ass, working his hands between the fine rear and the couch cushions.

“I was just looking for you,” Mike said seriously.

“Ya found me. Or, I guess, _I_ found _you_.” Johnny laced his fingers together behind Mike, and pulled forward gently. “You gonna get moving, or do I have to carry you?”

Mike laughed aloud at the image of John Gage carrying him into his bedroom and having his way with him. The man was just crazy enough to do it, he thought. And Johnny was certainly capable of it.

“Okay, carry it is,” Johnny said, before Mike had even completed his mental picture. He stood up, made sure he was grabbing Mike’s good arm, and hauled Mike to his feet swiftly. As soon as Mike was on his feet, Johnny turned himself slightly, bent at the knees and waist, and pulled Mike over the top of his back, with Mike’s right arm and right leg ending up over Johnny’s chest. Mike yelped in surprise as he was quickly carried down the hall and tossed unceremoniously onto his bed.

Panting from the exertion, Johnny pounced onto the bed himself and looked smugly down at Mike. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“You are completely insane,” Mike laughed up at Johnny, “and I love you, you maniac!”

Mike looked Johnny up and down, carefully, from the top of his mussed head, to his long-sleeved t-shirt, down his painted-on jeans, to his bare feet.

“You’re not on shift tomorrow,” Mike remarked solemnly.

“Nope!” Johnny lay on his side, elbow on the mattress, supporting his head with one hand, wondering what Stoker was getting at.

“Good.”

“Whatcha got up your sleeve, Stoker?” Johnny grinned. “You mentioned some naughty tricks.”

“That got your attention, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Johnny reached towards Mike, but found his hands gently batted away.

“Mm, gettin’ bossy,” Johnny remarked, still smiling.

“Yep. So, brace yourself, Gage, ‘cause you’re about to get done like you’ve never been done before. And it’s gonna take a long, long, _long_ time,” Mike said quietly, but with a perfectly feral grin on his face. “And you’re gonna love it.” He gestured for Johnny to lie down.

“Yeah? Well, you know how good I am at staying still,” Johnny half-joked, as he lay down as instructed.

“There are ways to handle that.” Mike straddled Johnny’s waist. His hands found the hem of Johnny’s shirt. He slid the shirt up slowly, teasing along the way, with tongue, teeth, and hot breaths. When he got to the armpits, Mike worked Johnny’s arms up gently over his head, and was pleased to find that his own left shoulder was up to the task at hand. He slipped the t-shirt’s neckband over Johnny’s head, and slid the shirt up Johnny’s arms, to his wrists. Johnny’s wrists were tangled in the shirt at the head of the bed. He made a move to slip one hand through a cuff, but Mike looked him in the eye, held onto his hand, and shook his head.

“Uh-uh,” Mike whispered. “Remember? You don’t know how to hold still.” He pinned Johnny’s tangled hands down, gently but firmly, up at the head of the bed. He tucked Johnny’s fingers over the top of the mattress, not forcibly holding him down, but rather inviting Johnny to allow himself to be lightly restrained.

“Is it okay if I do this?” Mike asked softly, letting go with one hand, but keeping the other firmly in place. Johnny was nearly panting, as Mike looked down into his eyes. What he saw there was a most enticing combination of lust and trust.

“Yeah,” Johnny managed. “Go figure—you get me real hot when you’re all in charge.”

“Good. ‘Cause you know what I think?” Mike asked rhetorically, nuzzling Johnny’s neck where it met the jawline. “I think that out of all your lovers, the women _and_ the men, nobody’s ever bothered to take the time to appreciate you.” He worked his way to the other side of the jawline. “Nobody’s really taken their time with you properly.” He nuzzled an earlobe. “You saw something _you_ liked, and they saw something _they_ liked, and everyone had a good time. Am I right?” He locked his cerulean gaze onto pools of molten chocolate.

Johnny gave a tiny nod.

“But you,” Mike continued, whispering right into Johnny’s ear, “are worth so much more than that, and I don’t think you even know it. So I’m gonna take my time to show you, and tell you, everything about you that’s perfect, and beautiful, and amazing, and everything else I love about you, even the flaws; and you’re gonna take _your_ time to feel, and believe, and be loved. And you don’t move, and you don’t touch me, ‘cause this is all about you.”

Mike could feel Johnny’s hands shaking, ever so slightly, under his grasp.

“You’re nervous.”

Johnny kept his gaze locked with Mike’s, and nodded again, barely perceptibly.

“This,” Mike said, pressing gently on Johnny’s tangled hands, “is not about power or control. It’s about trust. Do you trust me?”

Another small nod.

“And if it gets too intense, just say ‘stop,’ okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Johnny, “but what about you? I want to—”

“Shh,” said Mike. “If you’re feeling good, trust me, I’m feeling good too. And there will be plenty of time for other games later.” Mike put his free hand on Johnny’s bare chest, and noted that his breathing and heart rate had settled. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Mike shifted his weight so he could lean down and plant a long, deep kiss on Johnny’s lips. As lips parted and tongues met, Johnny forgot himself, and instinctively tried to move his hands to the back of Mike’s neck. Mike responded by gently holding the tangled hands down. “Uh uh,” he murmured. “Don’t touch. Just feel.”

Johnny relaxed his arms, and closed his eyes.

Mike took the opportunity presented to him, brushing some kisses onto Johnny’s forehead first so he wouldn’t be startled by the kisses planted on his eyelids. “Your eyes,” said Mike. “They’re like the finest coffee, the best dark chocolate. They sparkle like obsidian when you’re happy, and flash like lightning in a black thundercloud when you’re angry. You can never hide what you’re thinking—not really—and that’s something I love about you.” Mike spent a couple of minutes stroking Johnny’s eyebrows, forehead, and cheekbones, planting kisses as he wished.

After a while, Mike moved his attention back to Johnny’s mouth, kissing his lips again. “Your smile, when you’ve gotten a good save, or made something a little less bad for someone on the worst day of their lives—it’s perfect. And when you’re joking around at the station, or when you’ve put one over on the Phantom, your smile gets crooked, and that’s perfect too. And the smiles you give to me—those are the most perfect ones of all. Some of them go straight to my knees, turn ‘em into jelly. Some of ‘em go straight south, yeah, like that one you’re showing me right now. But every one of them goes straight to my heart.” Mike nibbled the top lip of that smile, and the lower lip, and took several minutes to work his way downwards.

“Mm, right here’s another spot that won’t let you hide your feelings.” Mike nuzzled one carotid pulse point, and the other. They were pulsing rapidly. “You still nervous?” Mike asked gently.

Johnny shook his head, eyes still closed.

“Ah, so it’s the _nice_ kind of fast heartbeat. Good.” He took his time nuzzling every little bit of Johnny’s neck, inch by inch.

Mike moved his attention to a shoulder. “I’m gonna let your hands go, now. Can you keep them up there?” He watched as Johnny grabbed hold of the edge of the mattress. Johnny’s eyes were still closed—Mike guessed Johnny felt he had to do something to lessen the intensity of what was happening, so he let him be.

Mike put a hand on each of Johnny’s shoulders. “Some days, you seem to carry the weight of the world, right here. But what I love to see is the times when you put down that weight, and let go of the crap from the shift. I got to see that sometimes, before—like every now and then, at the end of our shift, when I would make coffee for the next shift, and you and I would sit at the table while they were coming in.”

“Always liked having a nice, quiet morning coffee with you, Mikey,” Johnny whispered.

“Yeah?” asked Mike. “Me too. I loved to see you letting go of the shift that was done. It was almost like you were waiting for the other guys, to pass the baggage on to them, so you could leave clean and light.”

“How’d you know that? That’s _exactly_ what I was doing,” said Johnny, opening his eyes.

“Hm, well, that’s because that’s what I was doing, too. But we’re getting distracted.” Mike took his time with the shoulders, tracing every edge of every muscle. He found the spot where the large deltoid muscle ended at the upper arm, and traced that spot on each side, with fingers and with lips. He let his thumbs trail along Johnny’s collar bones. In the hollow where they met in the middle, Mike placed a gentle kiss. Johnny sighed, and his eyes closed again.

“I’m sure you medical types have a fancy name for this spot, but I don’t wanna know what it is. I just like it, and that’s all.” He spent at least a couple of minutes just on that small area. “Hm, I think maybe I have a little bit of a fetish for this spot,” he remarked, partly to Johnny and partly to himself. “Go figure.”

Eventually, Mike’s hands slid slowly downwards and outwards, now splayed across a fine pair of pectoral muscles. “Mm, now we’re getting to some of the _really_ good parts.” He slid his hands outwards just a bit, so each thumb found a nipple and brushed it gently. “I really do love your chest. A model of perfection,” he said, tracing the outline of one of the pecs with a feather-light touch. His touch raised goosebumps. “Smooth, perfect, and so strong.” He flicked one nipple with the tip of his tongue, and cooled it with a breath. “Strong, but sensitive—just like you.” Johnny’s breathing picked up, and he whimpered as Mike treated the other side equally. He re-did each side for good measure, enjoying the sounds his ministrations were eliciting. He took his time with each place where a rib met the sternum, spending several minutes finding which specific places seemed to be most sensitive. After a while, Mike decided to move along—Johnny was having a hard time staying still, and Mike needed to push his hands down a couple of times. But Johnny didn’t tell him to stop—not even close.

“And yummy, yummy abs. No, no hands,” Mike admonished, as Johnny’s hands came down again for a moment. “Hold on tight up there.” Johnny managed to do as he was told, just barely, groaning as Mike licked a fast line down the center line from sternum to navel, dividing Johnny’s belly down the middle with a cold line.

Johnny almost had to tell Mike to stop—that one fast move, after so many minutes of slow caressing, nearly overwhelmed him.

Mike could sense that Johnny had nearly tipped over the edge, and backed off for a minute or two, just resting his hands on Johnny’s sides, not moving, not talking. After he could see Johnny’s breathing returning to normal, and the pulse points in his neck thumping gently rather than bounding wildly, he slowly picked up where he’d left off. Each muscle of the six-pack got a good minute or two of attention. Mike’s hands stayed busy too, working themselves around and back, finding the strong spinal muscles in Johnny’s lower back.

Mike contemplated his next task aloud. “Now this is gonna be tricky. These jeans are hot, hot, hot, but boy, they’re _really_ hard to take off. And, no, you don’t get to let go.”

Mike started working on the belt buckle—easy. The button and zipper—quick. And, since he’d been getting some practice in this department, and had a bit of help from his subject, the jeans peeled right off, followed right away by the boxers underneath.

Once the unneeded fabric was sent over the foot of the bed, Mike spent a moment with his hands on Johnny’s hips, letting Johnny settle his breathing again while he himself took in the magnificent scenery. He could tell Johnny was highly aroused—his erect, engorged cock, moisture beading at the tip, was a dead giveaway—but Mike still wasn’t hearing anyone say “stop.”

Johnny was finding it more and more difficult to keep his hands to himself. On the one hand, he wanted so badly to fling the entangling shirt away from his hands, and just grab Mike and pull him down, feel his weight, feel his body. But on the other hand, Mike’s detailed attention was the most sensual experience he’d ever had, while at the same time being nearly unbearable in its intensity. He didn’t want it to stop, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself for much longer. And he realized, to his great surprise, that what he _really_ wanted was to surrender himself, completely, totally, utterly.

“Mike?” Johnny gasped out.

“You want me to stop?”

“No—I want you to...” Johnny could hardly admit it out loud.

“What do you want, babe? Just tell me,” Mike urged gently.

“Tie my hands down. For real,” he panted out in a whisper, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “So fuckin’ hot, don’t stop, but I can’t, I _just_ _can’t_ hold still for real, and I trust you, and I want you to do it. Please. Now.”

Mike paused, a chill washing over him at this unexpected request. “Okay, but you have to do one thing,” he whispered.

“’kay,” Johnny gasped.

“You have to ask me again with your eyes open so I know you mean it, and you have to promise me, _promise_ me, that you’ll say ‘stop’ if it’s too much.”

With supreme willpower, Johnny opened his eyes, and looked Mike right in the eye. “Please do it,” he said, not actually able to say the words again, “and I _promise_ , and oh God, I love you so much,” he choked out.

“Okay,” Mike whispered. He was barely able to take his eyes off Johnny, but had to find something to hold those perfect hands down with, for real. In a flash of inspiration, he reached over Johnny’s head, between the mattress and the wall, and found a carrying handle in a convenient place on the mattress. He grabbed a long tube sock out of a drawer, passed it through the rope handle at the head of the mattress, and around the t-shirt still entangling Johnny’s hands. The shirt got pulled down between the wall and the mattress as Mike made a tight loop with the sock and tied a simple square knot to keep the whole mess together. He checked the cuffs of the shirt where they held Johnny’s wrists—snug, but not tight, and plenty of room for circulation. He checked his knot, like a good fireman, before letting go.

Mike stopped to caress Johnny’s cheek, and kissed him gently. Johnny arched into his kiss hungrily.

“That okay?” Mike asked.

Johnny nodded, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Mike marveled at what he was seeing. Here was a man who could look death in the eye on every shift, hardly blinking, but when it came to the intensity of his own emotions, and his own physical feelings, he had to close his eyes to tone it all down.

Rather than starting again where he’d left off, Mike decided to start at Johnny’s feet and work his way back up again. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to break contact, so he slid his hands all the way from Johnny’s wrists, down his arms, his sides, his hips, and down the outsides of his legs, all the way to his feet.

Johnny was so highly charged that even this simple, moderated movement—neither feather-light touches nor heavy hands—pulled a loud groan from him, as his hands tested their bonds. But he didn’t say “stop.”

Mike held Johnny’s feet firmly—he’d learned already that those feet were so ticklish that light touches were dangerous for anyone who didn’t want an accidental kick. “Back to business, Gage. I’m not gonna risk my life down here, but I do need to say I appreciate these feet, since they get you where you’re going, but moving right along...” Mike slid his hands up Johnny’s shins.

He took Johnny’s left leg, and bent it at the knee. He stroked up and down the shin and the calf. “This one’s your stronger leg, the one you haven’t broken twice. I can see, when you’re working hard, that this is the one that does the heavy lifting. And I know this spot right back here—” he snuck a kiss onto the underside of Johnny’s knee, and listened for the reaction he knew he’d get—“yeah, that spot always does it.” He traced his fingers down the Achilles tendon, back up the calf, through the shallow groove between the two sections of the calf muscle. He knelt at the side of the bed to get the perfect angle, and let his tongue work at the spot he’d highlighted before, loving the sounds he was hearing.

He climbed back onto the bed, and shifted his attention to the other leg. “This one, this leg, I can see the scars.” He gently, carefully stroked up and down Johnny’s shin bone, stopping at a crescent-shaped, age-whitened scar halfway up the shin bone, a nasty souvenir of a nasty fracture. “Aw, babe, this one made me cry when it happened. Only hard thing about being an engineer is seeing your buddies get hurt. And you seem to get more than your fair share, love.” He kissed and caressed the spot, but moved along, to stop thinking about the pain and sadness it had caused.

“And now you’ve got a weather-wise leg, and I’m so glad I ignored it. ‘Cause if I’d listened, when you said it would rain, we might not be here now. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be, nothing I’d rather be doing, nobody I’d rather be with, than you, right here, right now.”

Mike didn’t want to neglect the calves, but he did want to move on to new territory. So he spent a couple more minutes on shins and calves, while kneeling on the foot of the bed between Johnny’s feet. He was rewarded mostly with sighs and other small sounds of pleasure, but went back to the extra-sensitive behind-the-knee spot every so often, too, for a heightened reaction.

Onwards and upwards, Mike thought. He repositioned himself slightly further up the bed, and knelt between Johnny’s knees. He stroked up the outside of one thigh, from knee to hip, feeling the tightness of the quad muscles. He let his hand pause right on the bulk of one of the muscles. It was quivering—Mike imagined he could actually feel the individual fibers loosening and tightening out of sync with each other.

“These muscles are so beautiful, so strong, so perfect and efficient. You get needled at the station for being the skinny guy, but we all know you’re stronger than any of us. These legs carry you on a ten-mile run, or down a 75-foot ladder with a huge guy over your shoulders, or up a flight of stairs with a charged line. Or tearing down my hallway, with me over your shoulders, to throw me on my bed, just an hour ago.”

“And here on these perfect thighs is where I can feel the heat coming off you the best—right now, your muscles are tight and quivering, and you’re running really hot.” He punctuated his last word by trailing his hand up Johnny’s inner thigh, from knee to groin, and watched Johnny’s cock twitch. He moved his hand back down to the knee, and then sent it up the inner thigh again, with an even lighter touch this time.

“Aah … fuck .. can’t take it ...”

“What, this?” He did it again, one hand on each inner thigh this time. Johnny arched up, groaning loudly, with no real words this time, and definitely not the word “stop.” “Looks to me like you’re taking it,” said Mike, sliding his hand down and back up once more, this time resting his hands on Johnny’s hips after the upwards movement.

Mike took this opportunity to look Johnny over, head to toe, taking inventory. Johnny still had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and his breath was coming in sharp gasps. His smooth caramel skin carried a sheen of sweat. Mike let his gaze linger on his lover’s cock, and his balls, and could see that Johnny wasn’t going to last much longer. One touch, one lick, would send him right over the edge.

And, Mike realized, he wasn’t going to last much longer himself. But there was one more thing he needed to do before the grand finale. He was still fully clothed, so he stood up and hastily tore everything off. He returned to where he had been, this time straddling Johnny’s thighs. They both gasped at the feeling of skin on skin.

“Johnny, I want you to open your eyes, and look at how beautiful you are, and look at what you do to me, see how you make me feel.”

It took Johnny a few seconds to work up to opening his eyes, but he did it. He opened his eyes to see Mike, blue eyes glowing fiercely, straddled over him. Mike was stroking his own cock—this sight made Johnny groan aloud again.

“Oh god, Mike … you’re so … I gotta … aw shit … I wanna …” Johnny’s hands strained at their bonds, but he didn’t say “stop.”

“See how gorgeous we are together, you and me? Look,” he said, as he took both their cocks together in his hands, and they each moaned the other’s name as he added some pressure, some friction.

It didn’t take much.

Johnny’s eyes rolled back, half-closed again, and his hips arched up towards Mike as his whole body convulsed, and his semen shot onto their bellies, joined immediately by Mike’s. Finally, Mike allowed himself to collapse on Johnny, totally covering his body, finally face to face. Johnny was breathing heavily but deeply, and his eyes were closed all the way again.

“You okay, babe?” asked Mike.

No reply. Mike reached over Johnny’s head to undo the knot. He couldn’t do it—the stress the knot had been subjected to had tightened it beyond Mike’s ability to simply untie it. Nothing was tight or constricting on Johnny’s wrists, but he wanted to make sure Johnny was free to move when he regained his senses.

“Shit.” He dashed to the kitchen, glad for the new blinds in the living room, grabbed a pair of scissors from the junk drawer, and, violating a basic safety rule, ran with the scissors back to the bedroom and swiftly cut through the sacrificial tube sock. He pulled the shirt the rest of the way off Johnny’s hands, freeing him completely.

Mike was a bit worried—Johnny didn’t seem passed out, but what did he know?

He wrapped himself around Johnny, and pulled the covers over both of them. “Johnny?” he asked again.

“Oooohhhh, maaaan, Mike. You were _not_ kidding,” Johnny mumbled, turning towards Mike and throwing and arm and a leg over him, pulling him closer.

Mike let out a deep breath, relieved to hear speech. “What wasn’t I kidding about?” he asked.

“I forget,” said Johnny, “’cause I’m jello, and my mind is blown.”

Mike grinned back at him. “That was part of the point,” he said.

“And you’re a fuckin’ poet, man. Seriously.”

Mike laughed at Johnny’s inelegant but heartfelt phrasing.

“Seriously,” Johnny repeated, tipping Mike’s chin up so they were eye to eye.

Mike got serious too. “I just … wanted to really … appreciate you.”

“Well, I definitely feel appreciated. And,” Johnny hesitated.

“And what? How else do you feel?” Mike asked softly.

“I … uh … loved. I feel loved,” Johnny whispered, hardly able to say the words.

“You are. I do. I love you like crazy.”

“I know. And so are you, and I do too,” said Johnny. He listened to his own words, and found them inadequate and inelegant. “I’m no poet, but I love you too, like I never have before, and I’m never gonna stop. Okay?”

“Yeah, Johnny,” said Mike. “That’s perfectly okay with me.”


	15. Out With the Old

**Out With the Old**

 _Thursday, 0725._

Hank Stanley was a little earlier than usual for his shift. He was already in his blues, so he skipped the locker room and headed straight through the apparatus bay towards the office. The engine and the squad were both out—he’d have to check the call station log to see what kind of run they were on. But first things first. He headed to the kitchen to get coffee—he could smell a fresh pot. Either C-shift had just brewed some before their run, or somebody on his shift was _really_ early. _That couldn’t be it_ , he thought as he bypassed his office; _nobody on A-shift was_ ever _that early except for_...

Tap, tap, tap.

“Shit.”

Tap, tap, tap. Ding!

… Mike Stoker, who was in Cap’s office, sitting at the typewriter.

“Well, well, well, make yourself right at home, Stoker,” said Hank,

Mike nearly jumped out of his skin. “You sure know how to sneak up on a guy, Cap,” he said, once he recovered. “Just getting started on my transfer request. Nobody was here, so …”

“No problem, Mike. Carry on. I gather you made the coffee, since nobody else is here?”

“Uh, Johnny’s in the locker room, but I didn’t trust him with the coffee.”

“Good call,” said Hank. “I’ll go grab some if you don’t mind. Be right back.” He made it to the kitchen this time, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had a sip—yep, definitely Stoker-made coffee—and headed back to his office. He nearly collided with Johnny in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey, Cap!” Gage said cheerfully.

“Mornin’, Gage,” Cap replied. “How were your days off?”

“Just great, Cap, just great. We went to the beach yesterday morning, and hardly anyone was around, it being a Wednesday and all. Every now and then this crazy shift business has its advantages. How ‘bout you?”

“Can’t complain. Tuesday was a bust, of course, after a shift like that, but I had a nice, boring, quiet day at home yesterday. The missus and I actually went out for a lunch date—can’t remember the last time we did that.” Cap decided to sit at the table with Johnny to have his coffee—no sense in looking over Stoker’s shoulder as he typed.

“So, uh, Mike’s in your office doing his transfer request,” Johnny said.

“Yep, I startled him in there. I wasn’t _trying_ to sneak up on him, but you know how he is.”

“Sure do, Cap. I sure do.” Johnny said, trying, and failing, not to smile like an idiot.

“Uh huh,” said Cap, smiling back, “I guess you do.”

They sipped their coffee for a bit.

“Uh, Cap?”

“Mm hm?”

“Thanks.”

Cap didn’t have to ask what he was being thanked for.

“Don’t worry about it, Gage.” Cap did have one concern, though. He debated with himself whether to ask, and decided to just do it. “You gonna say anything to the other guys?”

Johnny sighed, and stared into his coffee cup. “Roy knows. We’ll see how that goes. He’s not freaked out about it or anything, but I think he’s feeling pretty bad that he didn’t really know me as well as he thought. And I’m feeling pretty rotten about that myself. But, ya know, what was I _s’posed_ to do?”

Hank had contemplated that very question on his days off. What _were_ people supposed to do when there was something important about their lives that they really couldn’t share with most of the people they knew? In a workplace like the fire department, you didn’t just _work_ with your co-workers, you _lived_ with them. It was no wonder, then, that Mike was so quiet on shift. He was perfectly capable of expounding at length, and at times quite eloquently, about anything that was not personal. People had gotten used to the idea of Stoker as the silent one, but Hank suspected that it was not really Mike’s normal personality that they saw on shift.

And he didn’t have a good answer for Johnny’s question. _Damn it,_ he thought, _I’m supposed to be able to_ help _my boys_. Hank realized he had to settle for honesty, rather than clarity. It would have to do.

“I don’t have a good answer for you, John. I’m sorry.”

Johnny kept staring into his coffee cup. “Yeah, I know. That’s ‘cause there _is_ no good answer.” He looked up at Cap. “And there’s no good answer for what to say to Chet and Marco, either. They’re not stupid. Hell, you’d have to be dense as a brick not to know something’s up with John Gage these days. Chet’s made it quite clear he’s not gonna drop it. Marco doesn’t bug me about it, but … well … Cap, they were both raised really Catholic, if you know what I mean. It’s just … not gonna fly.”

Hank sighed. Gage was probably right. “John, to be honest? I think you’re handling this just fine. You’re not letting Chet know he’s getting to you, and I’m gonna put a stop to _that_ nonsense anyhow. Nobody else will bug you, I don’t think.” Cap knew that wasn’t all that was getting Gage’s goat, though.

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “but that ain’t the whole problem, though, is it.”

Johnny’s fist pounded the table sharply, just once. Cups and silverware clattered on the table, and Cap jumped out of his chair at the sudden noise.

“It just isn’t _fair_ , Cap! This is the _most_ important, the _best_ thing in my life, _ever_. And I can’t even tell my friends. Not all of them. Not ever.” Johnny set his forehead down on the table, much harder than Hank really liked to see.

Hank moved to the seat next to Johnny’s, and hesitantly placed his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “You’re right, John. It’s _not_ fair. I’m sorry.”

Captain Stanley wished he could say something, do something, to make his youngest crew member feel better. But the cold, hard fact was that he couldn’t.

 _He_ couldn’t.

“Go see him,” Cap said quietly to Johnny. “Close the office door, and go see him.”

Johnny slowly pulled himself together, lifting his head off the table. “Thanks, Cap.” He pushed his chair back from the table, careful not to let it make the screeching sound he knew his captain hated. “You always know what to say. Thanks.” He trudged out of the room, and Cap heard his office door close.

Captain Stanley sat alone at the day-room table for several minutes. Gage was right—he probably couldn’t be open with Chet and Marco. Chet, he wasn’t so sure about—there was enough hippie in him that perhaps the strict Irish-Catholic upbringing might bend a bit for a friend. But Marco? Probably not. And, Gage was right about another thing—it wasn’t fair. And there wasn’t a damned thing Hank could do about it.

~!~!~!~

Kelly burst into the day room from the locker room, on time for once. “Hey, Cap! Whatsa matter, your office flooded or something?”

“Or something,” said the captain. “It’s in use.”

“Uh, who’s usin’ it? C-shift’s still out, right?”

“Yep. Mike Stoker’s just doing some paperwork.”

“Stoker’s back? Far out!” said Chet, heading towards the office. “I’ll go say hi.”

“Hold it, Kelly. Let him be, all right?”

Chet stopped at the door. Cap was serious, he realized.

“Okay, Cap. But what’s up?”

Captain Stanley hesitated, and Chet noticed.

“He’s not comin’ back, is he,” Chet predicted glumly. He returned to the room, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table.

“No,” Cap said reluctantly. “He’s working on his transfer paperwork right now. And I’m sure he didn’t want you guys to find out this way.” He looked up at Kelly. “Listen, I’m gonna put chores off this morning, and Mike can talk to all you guys at once, okay? For now, just sit tight, okay?”

“Okay, Cap,” Chet said, for once not making an issue of something. “Gonna miss the guy. It’s kind of nice to have someone you can always count on to keep their trap shut.”

“Not to mention the little detail that he’s the best engineer I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Captain Stanley added sternly.

“Yeah, that too,” Chet admitted.

Roy and Marco slumped into the day room. Neither one of them looked happy to be starting a shift.

“Morning, boys,” said Cap.

“What’s up, Cap?” asked Marco. “Who’s in your office?”

“Stoker’s doing some paperwork. He’ll be out in a minute, and then we all need to have a chat. So sit tight, okay? And,” Cap checked his watch, “anyone seen Jackson? It’s two minutes till roll call, which I think we’ll just have here at the table today.”

“Yeah, he’s in the locker room,” replied Marco. “But what about Gage? Looks like he’s late again.”

“You know it, Marco. Probably another hot date last night! Look out, Roy,” Chet waggled his eyebrows. “Your partner’s gonna be in la-la land again today! Just wait, guys; I’ll bet he’s got that just-got-laid look again this morning. And we’ll hear some _real_ dreamy talking to the pillow tonight. Man, whoever she is, she’s got him totally—”

“Enough!!” This time, Cap’s open hands slapped the table, hard enough to knock a stray spoon onto the floor.

Everyone at the table froze. Ed Jackson stood stock still, half through the doorway.

“Enough, Kelly! You will mind your own business. You will _not_ needle Gage about his love life. You will _not_ make insinuations or speculations, in or out of his hearing. You _will_ behave like an adult, not a teenager. We’re already losing one crew member, and I don’t want it to turn into two.”

Everyone stared at Cap as if he’d grown another head.

“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?” Cap shouted. Veins were popped out in his neck, and his face was red.

“Uh, yessir,” said Chet. Captain Stanley had certainly chastised him before, but had never shouted at him in front of the whole crew. And he’d never looked so, well, pissed off.

Just in time for the fun, and, just in time for the 0800 shift to start, Johnny slid into the kitchen, looking like himself again. He stopped short when he saw the expressions on everyone’s faces.

“Uh, good morning?” he said hesitantly.

“Sit down, Gage,” Cap said tiredly. “Actually, belay that. Go get Stoker, and bring an extra chair from the office, and then we’ll _all_ sit down.”

Johnny didn’t have to be asked twice. He spun on one foot, and left the silent kitchen.

Jackson sat at the table, not even daring to get himself a cup of coffee first.

Roy knew what was coming. He brought the coffee pot and some mugs to the table, and started passing out full mugs to those who didn’t yet have a cup, and topping off everyone else’s. He put two full mugs at the empty spaces at the table.

Johnny came in with a chair, followed closely by Stoker, who silently handed a form to Captain Stanley. Mike and Johnny sat next to each other at the table. Nobody noticed that Johnny’s right knee crept over to Mike’s left one under the table.

Captain Stanley took the paper from Stoker, and cleared his throat. “All right, guys. Here’s the deal. Some of you may have already heard that Mike here is requesting a transfer. I’m inclined to grant it. In fact, Stoker, I’ve already talked to Captain Sterling, from 93’s A-shift, and his engineer is moving up in a month or so. Sterling’s the fellow I mentioned to you before. So that placement’s a ‘go’ if you want it.”

Stoker nodded. “Thanks, Cap.”

“You’re welcome,” said Cap. “I’ll fill in the rest of the form today and get it in to HQ.” He looked around the room.

“Mike, we’re all gonna miss you,” Cap continued. “Can you fill the rest of the guys in on some of the reasons you’re transferring?”

Mike looked around the room at the faces of the men he’d worked with for the last six years, and the new face, Ed Jackson, who would likely be his replacement. And, on Mike’s left, the face he woke up to that morning.

“I’ll really miss working with you guys. But you all know my place is almost 45 miles from this station, and you all know gas is up to almost a buck a gallon around here. And you all know the traffic is just getting worse and worse.” The guys nodded and mumbled their agreement. “Since I’ve been out for a while anyhow, this seemed as good a time as any for me to move on, I guess.”

Stoker looked around the room again. “I’ve enjoyed working with all of you. A lot. You guys are the best team I’ve ever worked with, and I know part of the reason is that we’ve all been working together for six years—and that almost never happens in a county the size of L.A. And I’m sorry to be the one that’s breaking up the shift. I’ll miss you guys—well, most of you, at least—but I really have to do it.”

Marco, the only member of the A-shift who had no previous knowledge of this news, looked stunned.

“Man, Stoker, I’ll really miss you,” he said. “No offense, Ed.” Jackson waved off Marco’s apology. “But I can totally see why you need to move on. My commute’s only half an hour right now, but it gets a few minutes longer every year. It must take forever from your place.”

“Yep. An hour on the way in, and an hour and a half, sometimes two, on the way home.”

“Wow,” said Chet. “I’m surprised you stuck it out that long. That’d make me crazy,” said Chet.

“You’re already crazy, Kelly,” Mike said, uncharacteristically. “But yeah, it’s long.”

“Well, I’ll miss you,” said Chet, “but I totally get your reasoning. I’m glad Cap got you a good assignment, ‘cause you’re the best engineer I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

Cap rolled his eyes as he heard his own words recycled by Chet.

Roy cleared his throat. “We’ll definitely miss you, Mike. You’re a solid engineer, and a solid guy. Our loss will be 93’s gain.” He looked over to Captain Stanley. “Any chance we can get Ed on the shift for good? I think we’ve all started to tolerate him all right,” he said, winking at Jackson.

“Ed? That what you want?” asked Cap, who knew perfectly well Jackson was busting a gut hoping for the position.

Jackson nodded. “I know it’s up to HQ, and not you, Cap, but I’d be grateful. You’re a good bunch of guys.”

“Okay, then,” said Hank. “I’ll get that paperwork in to HQ today too.”

Naturally, it was Chet who noticed that Johnny hadn’t said anything yet. “Your turn, Gage. Don’t you have something to say to Mike, or are you too—” Chet stopped short as he caught Cap’s glare. “—too bummed?” he amended hastily.

“C’mon, Chet, you know I never pass up the chance to make a speech!” Johnny announced. “But I promise to keep it short. Guys,” he said, looking around the room, “I can really only echo what you already said—Stoker here is a solid engineer, and a great guy.” He looked to his right. “Mike, we’re gonna miss you around here. Things aren’t gonna be the same, but I have a feeling everyone’s gonna do pretty darned good. That’s all.”

Mike stared into his coffee cup. No, things were definitely not going to be the same. A brush fire, a cactus, a rainstorm, and an unexpected moment of truth between friends had changed everything forever. And he was glad.

~!~!~!~

The A-shift, including both the engineers, the outgoing and the incoming, was still seated at the table when the C-shift returned a few minutes later, filthy, sooty, sweaty, and exhausted from knocking down a house fire. A-shift took over the clean-up, hanging the hoses to dry on the tower, and washing the engine and the squad.

Stoker was finishing cleaning out his locker when Cap came into the locker room. “Mike, can I see you in my office for a minute before you go?”

“Sure, Cap. Lemme just throw this stuff in my truck, and I’ll be right in.” He took the nameplate off his locker, tossed it unceremoniously in the box, and took the box out to his truck and set it on the passenger’s seat.

Johnny and Marco were just finishing hanging the hoses on the tower. Gage, of course, was at the top of the tower—he never missed a chance to climb up something. Marco was finishing straightening the hoses at the bottom of the tower. Mike shielded his eyes from the sun to watch Johnny as he descended from the hose tower.

“Cleaning out your locker?” asked Marco.

“Yep.”

“Sorry you’re going, man. Had to happen, though, I suppose.”

Mike smiled. “Yeah, it did, Marco. It really did. But listen, I’m hoping all you guys will come over to my place for one last bash next weekend. You’re off Saturday and Sunday, right? How about Saturday night?”

“Sounds good, Mike. I’ll be there,” said Marco.

“Great!” Johnny interjected as he hit solid ground. “That’s everyone except Cap, right, Mike?”

“Yep. I’ll ask him now—he wants to see me in his office before I go. See you next weekend, Marco,” Mike said as Marco headed indoors.

Johnny moved so he wasn’t right between Mike and the sun. “So this is really it, huh?”

“Yep. Probably the last time I’ll be in this station. Probably the last time I’ll see Big Red.”

Johnny didn’t tease him—he knew that Mike was really attached to the Engine 51. As well he should be—it was brand new when the station opened, so Stoker was its first caretaker—and the Ward LaFrance, made in New York state, shipped to California, still looked brand new.

“Jackson’ll take care of her. And us,” said Johnny, voicing the usually tacit understanding that the engineer, being the supplier of water, protected the rest of the crew. “He’s green, but he’s solid.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Mike. “But still. It’s weird, you know? But I guess it’s less weird than us working together,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “I didn’t really get it till today, how hard that would be. Like right now, for instance? I don’t wanna just wave bye-bye to you when you leave for the last time. And the little party in the day room? That was tough for you, I know— and I wanted to kiss it all better.”

“How ‘bout the dorms?” laughed Stoker. “That’d be pretty grim, having Chet, Marco, Roy, and two brick dividers between us all night.”

“Speaking of which—I’ll call before lights out if I have a chance. If I don’t, well, you understand,” said Johnny, realizing how great it was that was true.

“Okay. Actually, would it be okay if I just stayed at your place tonight? I wanna meet you there in the morning after your shift anyhow, and there’s no point in going back to my house just to sleep.”

“Sure! That’s great. Hopefully this shift will be—” Johnny stopped himself before he jinxed the whole shift by saying something only a probie would be dumb enough to actually say out loud.

Mike laughed. “Good catch. That was a close one.” He looked at the building. “I oughta get to Cap’s office.”

“All right. Cap said I should clean up the yard and parking lot before Roy and I go for supplies.” He looked around the parking lot—nobody else was outside. “Love you,” he said quietly.

“Love you too. I desperately want to kiss you goodbye,” said Mike.

“Well, _I_ desperately want to throw you in the back of the Rover and have my way with you, but that’s not gonna happen either. We’ll just have to squeeze in some extras tomorrow morning,” Johnny grinned back.

Mike left Johnny in the parking lot, and went in to the building to Cap’s office. He went in the open door, and decided to close it.

“Have a seat, Mike,” said Cap, gesturing to a chair. “I owe you an apology—I didn’t mean to spring that little farewell party on you just then, but Chet heard you were doing paperwork in the office and put two and two together, so it seemed like it was time.”

“It’s okay. I was hoping to catch everyone while I was here anyhow.” Mike hesitated a moment. “Uh, Cap, what was the yelling about?”

Hank sighed. “Kelly started in with the gossip—John wasn’t even there yet, but I just couldn’t take it. I know, Chet’s just joking around, but he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. I just completely lost it with him. He _almost_ deserved it, but not quite. Guess I owe him an apology.”

Stoker didn’t say anything for a minute. “Cap, did you fill Captain Sterling in on, uh, why I was transferring?”

Hank nodded. “Like we talked about. No details, just the basics. He asked if I thought it was a problem. I said absolutely not. He said good. That was it—he didn’t press me for details. But Mike,” Cap continued, “I think you should consider telling him who you’re with, so you can list John as an emergency contact. I know Gage doesn’t want your new captain to know, but I think it would be a good idea.”

Mike shook his head. “No can do, Cap. We’re just not ready to go there. But I had a thought along those lines, and Johnny’s on board with it. It’s not totally fair to ask you to be in the middle, but we were wondering if I could list _you_ as my emergency contact, so in case something happens to me, they’ll call you, and you can, uh, tell Johnny. If that works for you.”

Hank nodded, slowly. “I think that’s reasonable. Yeah, I can do that. In fact, why don’t I do it right now?” He unlocked a filing cabinet, and pulled Mike’s personnel file. He looked at the emergency contact name and number that was there already. “These are your folks, right? You leaving them on there?”

“Yeah. We don’t talk much, because, well, you know. But yeah. Let’s keep them, and add you.”

Cap made the change; Stoker signed on the line. Cap returned the file to the cabinet.

Cap drummed his pen on the desk, thinking. “Would you guys be okay putting yourself as John’s emergency contact? Or do you want him to have me down for that as well?” He frowned. “Come to think of it, I think Roy and I are _already_ his emergency contacts. So never mind.”

“That’s what he said. He’s got some cousins and such, but no close family,” said Mike.

“Yeah, thought so,” said Cap. He changed the subject. “When do the Rampart docs think you’ll get back on the job? Would they say?”

“I saw Dr. Brackett on Monday. He said two or three weeks.”

“Okay. Len—that’s Leonard Sterling—said you could come in as a regular fireman for a few shifts, till his engineer moves up, if you’re back before then. He’s got a couple guys wanting some vacation time, and nobody to fill in. Not too many people will take overtime shifts way out in the boonies like that.”

“Not surprised. Who wants to drive that far?” Stoker said, reasonably.

Hank frowned. “How are you guys gonna work out the distance piece, if you don’t mind my asking. I mean, 93s is way on the outskirts of the county, a good two hours from Gage’s place. And your place isn’t going to be any closer to here for Gage than it is for you.”

“We’re thinking about that. Since we’re gonna be on the same shift, we’ll probably just, uh, go to our own places after a bad shift, then catch up with each other not during rush hour. Whenever that is, anymore. We’ll work it out,” Mike said confidently. “I, uh, did feel kind of like an ass telling the guys I was transferring because of the drive, though, since half the time, I’ll actually be driving _more_.”

“Well, what can you do, Mike? It wasn’t a total lie; it was just a half-truth,” Cap said.

“True,” said Stoker. “Or, half true, as the case may be.”

“So, ah, you’ll get your transfer paperwork at your home address. I would guess the date will be effective immediately, but the medical return-to-work authorization takes precedence, of course.”

“Sure, Cap,” said Mike. “Got it. And—by the way—a week from this Saturday, I’m hoping to have all the guys from A-shift over. Barbeque if the weather’s good, pizza if it’s not. Beer no matter what.”

“Sounds good—I have to check with my social secretary, but nothing’s ringing a bell off hand. That’s a good idea—get everyone together one more time.”

“Great.” Stoker stood up. “I, uh …” he sat down again. “Cap, I can’t tell you how much it means to both of us that you’re, well, making the hard parts of this whole thing a lot less hard. It might not seem like much to you, but it is to us. I mean, to not have to _totally_ hide in the closet. And,” Stoker looked down at his feet, “this is gonna sound a bit ridiculous, but—” he stopped. “Nope, too ridiculous. Never mind.”

Cap frowned. “So you’re gonna leave me hanging like this?” he said, only half joking.

Stoker sighed, and gave in. “I know you feel kind of, well, fatherly towards Johnny. So I feel like I ought to tell you I’m gonna treat him right, take good care of him.” He looked up, blushing. “Sounds silly, but I warned you.”

Hank shook his head. “Doesn’t sound silly at all, Mike. Not at all. And, I know you will. And I know he’ll take care of you, too.”

“Yeah.” This time, Stoker stood up for real. “I oughta go. Got some errands, then PT at Rampart.”

“All right. I’ll let you know for sure about next Saturday, after this shift, okay?”

“Great. Thanks.” And Stoker exited the office, into the apparatus bay.

Jackson was just finishing drying Engine 51. Mike watched approvingly as Ed swiped over the chrome bumper with the cloth, one extra time, and then carefully dried off the dials, gauges, knobs, and switches that made everything work. He took one last look at the engine that had been his pride and joy for six years, turned quickly, and left Station 51 for the last time.

 **TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live about 25 miles from the birthplace of the Ward LaFrance version of Engine 51.


	16. One Last Bash

One Last Bash

 

 _Saturday, nine days later._

 

“Who do ya think’ll show up first?” Johnny asked Mike. Mike was busy tapping the pony keg—it was a perfect fall day, so they were setting up for outdoor grilling and beer drinking with all the guys from A-shift. Cap’s and Roy’s wives and kids were coming, which was fine with Stoker, since the presence of the families always kept the parties from getting out of hand. At least till the DeSotos and Stanleys inevitably departed before the rest of the gang.

“You will,” Mike said. “See, there’s the Rover in the driveway now. Shit, can you do this? I’ve never been any good at getting these things started.”

“You did it right,” said Gage. “The first one always comes out all foamy. Let’s just fill up a couple cups with foam, and let ‘em sit.” Mike took the foam-filled cups and set them aside. “Here,” said Johnny, after a minute or so, handing Mike a cup with a reasonable head, “try this one.” He pulled a bottle of ginger ale from the cooler for himself, and the two men sat on the deck awaiting the arrival of the first visitors.

Mike downed half his beer. “Well, here we go,” he said, pulling out a bench and straddling it. “I guess this could get weird.”

“Yeah—so we just keep sharp. Long as we manage to keep our hands off each other, it should be fine, right?” said Johnny, facing Mike on the bench.

Mike sighed. “Yeah, great. My house, my party, and I have to keep my hands off my boyfriend.” He downed the rest of the cup of beer. “I know, I know,” he continued, “it’d be too weird anyhow, even if everyone coming tonight knew about us, which they don’t, and they can’t, blah blah, et cetera. But still.”

“But still,” Johnny agreed quietly. He set his ginger ale on the deck railing, and moved forward on the bench, hooking his knees over Mike’s. He pulled Mike in closely, and they kissed, ginger ale and weak American beer mingling. “It’ll keep, though.”

Mike returned the kiss, one cool hand on the back of Johnny’s neck. “Yeah, it will. Till later,” he said, pulling back reluctantly, just as the front doorbell rang. “I’ll go get that,” Mike said, “if you’ll, uh, let me go, here.”

“Okay,” said Johnny, unhooking his knees from over Mike’s, and letting him up. “Got somethin’ for you later, though.”

Mike turned back from the sliding door, which he had halfway open, and planted one more kiss, right on top of that crooked grin, before dashing into the house to get the door.

Johnny figured he’d let Stoker let the guests in, since it was his house. He popped down the steps, and fiddled with the grill for no reason at all, other than to have something to do. The sliding door opened again, and Cap, Mrs. Stanley, and their two teenaged girls came through.

“Hey, Cap!” shouted Johnny, even though the yard was tiny. “How are ya!” The family entered, and the girls, who looked like they’d been dragged along kicking and screaming, headed straight for the hammock, probably to complain to each other.

Johnny bounded up to the side of the deck, looking up at everyone as they came down the steps. “Howdy, Mrs. Cap,” he said.

“Hello, John. You seem particularly cheerful tonight. And, Mike,” said Mrs. Stanley. “You’re looking well. You must be just about ready to go back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am, though I’m sure Cap has told you I’m headed to Station 93.”

“Yes, Len Sterling, right? He’s a bit of an odd duck, but I find him extremely pleasant. Not too many firemen share my political views, but he’s one of them.”

“Well, not many people can lean quite as far to the left as you, dear,” said Hank, “so yes, Len’s pretty off the charts.”

“Can I get something for anyone?” asked Johnny.

“Oh, I suppose I could do with a beer,” said Mrs. Stanley, surprising both Mike and Johnny.

“Coming right up,” said Johnny. He hopped up onto the deck, going under a rail rather than using the stairs, and was bouncing back down the steps in an instant, with beers for everyone. The Stanleys watched in amusement.

After six years, Cap was _still_ trying to figure out what cartoon character Johnny reminded him of. Over the years, he’d ruled out all Peanuts characters, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Goofy, Pluto, the Roadrunner, and several others. For quite a while now, he’d felt like it was on the tip of his tongue, and all it would take was one specific movement or turn of phrase to make the image crystallize.

The gate to the yard opened, and the DeSotos arrived. Cap’s daughters immediately headed to the children, apparently glad to have something to do other than sulk. While the girls were much older than Jenny and Chris, they all got along well, and had plenty to chat about.

Chet and Marco arrived next, with Ed Jackson in tow.

“Hey, guys,” said Mike. “Did you carpool? Smart move.”

“Yeah,” said Chet, “smart for everyone except yours truly, who drew the short straw. I’m not just the _driver_ , I’m the _designated_ driver,” he said glumly, watching the other two head straight for the keg.

“Aw, cheer up, Chet! Just think about that hangover you had on the camping trip—and how they might have one like that in the morning, but how you’ll be happy as a lark,” Johnny teased.

Chet brightened a bit. “True! I _could_ be a pal and call them bright and early tomorrow, make sure everyone gets to church on time.” He eyed Jackson. “Don’t know if he goes or not, but hey, better safe than sorry, right?” Chet beamed at the prospect of a new prank to think about. “Plus, Johnny baby, I saw your Rover parked in the driveway—so I know you have to stay sober too.”

Johnny smirked at him. “Nuh-uh, Mike’s generously letting me crash here. So I’m afraid you’re on your own in dry-land, pal.”

“Terrific,” said Chet, as he looked around. “Hey, Stoker, where’s Serena?”

“Huh? Oh, she had a, I dunno, some kind of family thing,” stumbled Stoker, not having prepared for this question.

“Yeah,” said Johnny, jumping in to the rescue. “You think she’d put up with me crashing here otherwise?”

He thumped Chet on the shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll get you a soda. Or you could have a glass of milk, or juice, or—” Johnny took off into the house like a bolt of lightning, as Chet started to chase him.

Cap, Mike, and Roy watched the pair’s antics with amusement. They could see Johnny jumping up and down in the kitchen, pretending to pound the living daylights out of Chet.

“Tigger!” Cap blurted suddenly.

“Huh?” said Roy.

“I get it,” said Mike. “Pretty accurate, actually.”

“Yes, definitely,” said Mrs. Stanley.

Roy, who had no idea what they were talking about, shook his head. And they all thought _Johnny_ was the crazy one.

~!~!~!~

The sun had set, the food had been cooked and eaten. Johnny had insisted on bringing ingredients for making ice cream sundaes for all the kids, and most of the adults ended up having them too. He was cleaning up his mess, and putting leftover ingredients away, when Chet came into the kitchen, peering around the corner into the hallway.

“Latrine’s the second door on the right,” said Johnny, as he put the ice cream in the freezer.

“Thanks,” said Chet, heading down the tiled hallway to his destination. After he finished divesting himself of the byproducts of heavy soda consumption, he flushed, and washed his hands at the sink. _Damn, but Stoker’s a neat freak_ , he thought. Everything was arranged just so in the small but tidy bathroom. Two large bath towels hung neatly next to the shower. Two mugs, each holding a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush, sat on a shelf above the sink. _Ah, so Serena_ does _stay here sometimes_ , he thought.

On one side of the sink, there was a shaving mug and brush; on the other side, a can of shaving cream and a plastic razor.

Chet sat down on the closed lid of the toilet to contemplate this tableau. It made sense that the second towel, toothbrush and toothpaste belonged to the same person as the second shaving set. And that certainly wasn’t Serena’s.

He didn’t _mean_ to be nosy—not really. After all, everything was sitting right there, in plain view. But he just couldn’t resist a teensy bit of a closer look. The side of the sink with the shaving mug and brush was definitely Stoker’s side—Chet made a point about ribbing him and Roy for being old fashioned for still using that stuff.

The other side—well, there was one item that spoke to Chet. _Cinnamon toothpaste,_ he thought. Only one person that he knew of on the planet used that stuff. And when you spend one out of every three days living with the people you work with, you get to know their weird little habits.

Chet sat there on the closed toilet lid, as puzzle pieces fell into place around him. Gage’s odd behavior for the last few weeks fell into place—clunk. Mike’s transfer request, after all this time—thunk. Cap’s overly severe annoyance with Chet’s teasing—that fit too. And the pair’s uncharacteristic palliness on the camping trip—well, that sealed it for Chet. He quietly straightened the hand towel, and headed back to the kitchen.

“Need a hand?” Chet asked Johnny.

“Nah, just about finished here,” replied Gage. “Thanks, though.”

Chet watched as Johnny put various items away in the kitchen. _He knows where everything goes,_ thought Chet, _even the ice cream scooper_. Johnny wiped down the bar and all the counters with a sponge, and dried the whole area with a towel.

Johnny noticed Chet watching. “What?” he said.

“Oh, nothing. Mike sure does like keep his place neat, doesn’t he.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” said Johnny, managing not to sound defensive.

“Not a thing, Gage, not a thing.”

Johnny washed some bowls and set them in the dish drainer.

“In fact,” Chet continued carefully, not wanting to say something that would be offensive if he was completely wrong in his conclusions, “personally, I think everyone’s entitled to their own preferences in everything in life. ‘Cause as long as your choices don’t harm other people, whose business is it to criticize?”

Johnny hung up his kitchen towel and stared at Chet. He didn’t say anything. He pulled a stool up to the bar, and Chet did the same. Johnny sat there, hands folded, looking at Chet, waiting to see what he’d say next.

“I, uh, owe you an apology, I guess,” said Chet. “I mean, I don’t _guess_. I _know_ I do.”

“What for?” Johnny asked, still not entirely sure they were on the same page, and not willing to turn to the next chapter if they weren’t.

“Badgering you about your nonexistent girlfriend,” Chet said neutrally.

 _Okay. Yep. Same page._

“How’d you know?” Johnny asked quietly.

“Two of everything in the bathroom. Cinnamon toothpaste lying there on the counter.”

“Whoops.” Johnny slipped down the hallway to the bathroom. Chet heard some rustling and clinking sounds, and the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing. Johnny returned. “Didn’t think of that. Obviously.”

“You know, I had no idea, till just now. But now that I think about it … tonight, and when Mike was at the station last week, you guys just seem really …” Chet searched for the right word. “Comfortable. And Stoker’s never _comfortable_.”

“Yeah, that’s what I used to think, too. Completely wrong, though.” Johnny finally smiled a bit.

“I kinda wondered, too, why you didn’t mind bunking with him the whole camping trip. Well, and that _he_ didn’t mind bunking with _you_ , to be honest.”

Johnny decided to keep his mouth shut—Chet didn’t really need details about timing.

Chet continued, since Johnny didn’t seem to want to say anything. “I wouldn’t have guessed, though.”

“Kinda the point, Chet,” Johnny said wearily, getting tired of having to explain himself to his friends. “And no,” he said, figuring Chet would ask anyhow, “chasing the girls wasn’t an act. Door swings both ways, AC/DC, blah blah blah. And Serena’s just a friend, always has been,” he finished, clearing things up for Chet entirely.

“Oh,” said Chet, for lack of anything intelligent to say. “Makes sense.”

There was a long pause. Johnny pulled two sodas from the fridge, popped them both, and set one in front of Chet.

“Cap knows, I guess,” said Chet.

“Yep.”

“And Roy?”

“Uh huh. Joanne figured it out for him.”

“Marco?”

“Nope.”

Chet sighed heavily. “You can’t tell him. He won’t even think of the possibility, but you can’t tell him.”

“I figured. Do I even want to know why you’re so sure, though?”

Chet hesitated. “Unfortunate remarks, under the influence of brothers, tequila and machismo.”

“Not a good combination.”

“Nope. But I suppose it’s no worse than too much whiskey and a good brawl, but there you go. Culture. Gotta love it.”

“Or not.”

“Or not,” Chet agreed.

They sat in companionable, if not entirely easy, silence for a few moments.

“This the real reason why Stoker’s transferring?”

“Got it in one,” said Johnny.

Chet hesitated. _This was a tough one,_ he thought. “I, uh … I guess you woulda told me if you actually wanted me to know.”

“Sorry, man. We weren’t sure if you’d be okay with it.” He looked right at Chet. “Are you?”

“C’mon, man, of course I am,” Chet said earnestly. “You can’t spend as much time being a hippie as I have and not be okay with people lovin’ whoever they want.”

“’kay.”

“And however they want. And whenever they want. And—”

“All right, all right, I get the picture,” laughed Johnny, the ice well and thoroughly broken.

More silence, less uncomfortable now.

“Ya know, I’ve met Mike’s new Cap,” Chet said finally. “He’s a good guy.”

“Really? Where you do know him from? That station is pretty far off the beaten path, and it sounds like Captain Sterling is too.”

Chet looked around to make sure nobody else was listening, as if Johnny hadn’t already been doing so throughout their entire conversation. “Back before we all started at 51s? 1969, Summer of Love, man. I was with this chick, Lisa, who was a total hippie. Boy, she was somethin’ else. Anyhow, she took me to a party at this commune up north of here, and there we were, passing around a joint,” Chet looked around again, “and this one guy’s like, ‘sorry, dudes, can’t partake, fire department Captain’s test comin’ up and all, gotta piss in the cup.’ Right when I’m in the middle of tokin’ on this huge doobie. And Lisa up and blurts to him that I’m a fireman too. And he goes, ‘long as you’re not on duty right now or tomorrow, kid, nobody’s gonna hear about it from me.’ Ran into him a couple times after that. The phrase ‘laid back’ may be an understatement.”

“Huh,” said Johnny, swigging his soda.. “Wonder what he’s like as a Cap, though.”

“Don’t think he’d still be doin’ it if he wasn’t any good at it.”

“Guess not.”

Chet looked carefully at Johnny. “Gage, you’re stone cold sober, aren’t you?” he realized.

“Yup.” Johnny raised his soda bottle to clink Chet’s. “Two beers with dinner, that’s it.”

“What’s with that?” Chet asked curiously.

“Two good reasons.” said Johnny. He didn’t elaborate, wanting to see if Chet could work it out.

Chet thought about it. He thought about the camping trip. He thought about every A-shift party. “You _never_ get drunk,” he realized. “I’ve seen you stupid, and I’ve seen you silly, but I’ve never seen you drunk.”

“Nope,” Johnny replied, clinking Chet’s bottle again. “Never. That’s one point for you.”

“But why? I mean, I can dig not gettin’ _completely_ hammered, but you could probably handle more than two beers with dinner and be fine, right?”

“Let’s just say,” Johnny said quietly, “I don’t care to test those waters. So I stop when I’m behind, and that’s where I stay.”

“You said _two_ reasons,” said Chet, after a minute or so.

“Yep.”

Chet shook his head slowly, smiling. “You’re not gonna help me here, are you.”

“Nope—you’re the detective; you’ll work it out.” replied Johnny, grinning. He really wanted to see what Chet would come up with. He looked out towards the deck. “Lemme know what you come up with,” he said, standing up from his seat. “I gotta go check on something. You comin’ outside, or you wanna sit in here and brood?”

Chet joined Johnny to go out to the deck. “Well, I don’t wanna miss any stupid antics,” he said. “Marco and Ed oughta be gettin’ pretty dumb by now. Gotta get some good fodder to start breaking in Ed as my new pigeon, ya know,” he said, winking at Johnny.

Johnny stopped at the sliding door.

“Yep, that’s right! Congratulations, Gage; after six looooonnnggg years, you’re officially no longer the junior member of our shift. You’ve got a couple more years on the job than Ed, and now that he’s permanent, it’s time for The Phantom to move on.”

“All right!” said Johnny, laughing. “Go easy on him at first, though, all right?”

“The Phantom knows what his pigeons can take,” said Chet. “Uh, usually. Really, man, sorry about the last coupla weeks.”

“Done and over with, Chet. No hard feelings. Besides, I kinda deserved it—Roy said I was actin’ like a total idiot for like three shifts in a row.”

“Man, ain’t that the truth. But yesterday, and the last shift? You seemed more normal. But happy as a clam.”

“Yep. That part’s sticking.” Johnny opened the slider, and the two friends rejoined the party.

Roy, Mike, and Ed were sitting at the table on the deck. Johnny picked up their empty plastic cups and brought everyone a refill. He filled himself a cup, too, for form’s sake, but knew he’d barely touch it, and took the seat between Ed and Mike.

Mike was lecturing Ed on the finer points of Engine 51. “And the bleed valve for the steamer inlet always sticks when it’s really hot out. And one more thing,” he said, waving his beer cup at Jackson. “Never, ever trust the water tank level gauge to tell you when the tank is full. If you’re filling the tank, and the pump cuts out, it’s full, no matter what that gauge says. Period. That gauge is slow, slow, slow, and nobody can fix it. Hell, I even got Charlie to replace it once, and it’s still sluggish. After five minutes? It’ll say it’s full. So just trust the pump, not the gauge. Got it?”

“Okay,” said Ed. “I think I got all that,” he said nervously. He hadn’t gotten all of it—Mike had been talking for what seemed like hours—but he knew one thing: that engine was in fine shape, and he’d be in big trouble if he didn’t keep it that way.

“Man, get a load of those kids,” Johnny said, partly to quell Mike’s tipsy tirade. “How can they do that after all that ice cream?” While everyone looked at the hammock, Johnny gently nudged his leg against Mike’s, under the table, and was rewarded with gentle pressure back, and a surreptitious smile.

The DeSoto and Stanley kids were busy seeing how high they could swing various victims in the hammock before they fell out. So far, each of the children had had a turn in the danger seat, but at the moment, a good-natured and extremely tipsy Marco was their target.

“One! Two! Three!!!” The kids all pushed as hard as they could, but couldn’t quite get Marco flipped over.

“Aaaaw!” they cried in dismay. “Let’s try again!”

“One! Two! Three!!!”

This time they had some help, as Chet rushed over just in time to tip the balance of the hammock. Marco landed in the soft grass with a satisfying “plop” and “oof.”

“Yay for Uncle Chet!” shouted Chris DeSoto.

“All right, kids,” said Cap, “enough of that; someone could get hurt. Besides, it’s nearly nine o’clock, and we’ve got to think about heading home.”

“Aww, Dad!” whined Cap’s girls, who, upon arrival, had been sullen and grumpy.

“Us, too,” said Joanne. “It’s waaay past certain people’s bedtimes.”

The parents started ushering their kids into the house. Johnny hung back, deciding to let Mike say his goodbyes to the families on his own.

“Okay, kids; time to say thank you and good night, and get you home,” said Roy.

“Thanks Uncle Mike,” said Jenny.

“Will you still be Uncle Mike even though you’re not at Daddy’s station anymore?” Chris asked boldly.

“Of course I will,” said Mike.

“Will you have paramedics like Daddy and Uncle Johnny at your station?” asked Jenny.

“We sure will, only not quite as special,” said Mike. “Your dad and Uncle Johnny are the best in the world.”

“Thanks for having us over, Mike,” said Roy. He bear-hugged Stoker, thumping him on the back. “Take care, all right?”

“Bye, Mike,” said Joanne. She hugged him as well. As she did, she whispered in his ear, “I think maybe we’ll still see you pretty often.”

Mike grinned back at her. “I don’t doubt it. Drive safe,” he said, closing the door after the DeSoto family.

“We’re off too, Mike. Keep in touch, will ya? And I don’t mean second hand,” said Cap. He shook Stoker’s hand, not being the bear-hugging type.

Mrs. Stanley didn’t hesitate, though. And, like Joanne, she whispered in Mike’s ear when she hugged him. “You boys seem very happy. Stay that way, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am!” laughed Mike. He shook the girls’ hands as well. “Bye Amy, Tricia. Take care of your dad.”

“We will,” said Tricia. “I hope your new Captain’s no Hookraider.”

“Tricia!” Cap said sternly.

“What? C’mon, Dad, you don’t even like him, and you like everyone,” said Tricia, on their way out the door.

Mike closed the door, and went back out to the yard. Joanne was right—he’d still see plenty of the DeSotos. But, even though he was never close to the Stanley family, he felt a twinge of sadness as he saw his former Captain walk out his front door.

Mike heard the slider open, then close again.

“You okay?” Johnny asked quietly.

“No.”

Johnny motioned Mike through the kitchen and into the hallway, away from the view of the yard. As soon as they were in the hallway, Johnny folded Mike in his arms, and Mike rested his forehead on Johnny’s shoulder. “But now I am,” said Mike.

~!~!~!~

Mike and Johnny had moved the party inside at eleven o’clock, the neighborhood’s agreed-upon end time for backyard parties. By one o’clock, the keg had met its demise. Chet was trying to keep Marco and Ed from throwing pretzels at each other in the living room, and Johnny was in the kitchen trying to convince Mike not to mix another batch of vodka screwdrivers.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Johnny, “you go out in the living room, and _I’ll_ mix up the drinks.” He fully planned to serve plain O.J., on the rocks.

“Really?” Mike said. “You’d do that, even though you can’t stand the sight of orange juice? Wow, Johnny, you’re the best. Guys, lookit! Johnny’s gonna make s’more!” he called to the pretzel throwers. “He’s just the best, right Kelly? Right, Lopez? You wouldn’t know, Jackson, but Gage is just completely, totally—”

“Hey, Mike,” Johnny interrupted hastily, “they’re throwing pretzels in your living room.”

“Oh, shit! C’mon, guys, quit it out, I mean, cut it, I mean, uh, aw hell, Johnny, what do I mean, babe?”

Chet stepped in. “Maybe it’s time for these drunks to go home, Mike. You want me to get them outta your hair?”

“Oh, I dunno. I mean, we’re all good buddies, right? So whatsa few pretzels on the floor. But I _do_ have some plans for later, like maybe pretty soon.” Mike tried to look over his shoulder to see Johnny in the kitchen, and nearly fell over. Chet set him down on a bar stool. “Whoops! That was close. Oh, hey, Chet. I ever tell you about the time I fell on the cactus, and Johnny had to fix me up? Man, that was somethin’. He cut my coat right off—with scissors!”

Chet looked over the counter at Johnny. “Second reason for sobriety?” he asked, grinning.

“Yup,” said Johnny. He handed Mike a glass of plain orange juice on ice. “Drink up, Stoker.”

Mike laughed, and looked at Chet. “He calls me Stoker. Isn’t that too much?” he sighed, and drank his juice. “That’s a good mix, babe. You got it just right with the vodka.”

“Yeah, I think I did,” said Johnny. “Whaddaya say I get all the guys one of these for the road?”

“See?” Mike said to Chet. “He’s just the best. And man, you wouldn’t believe the things he—”

Johnny interrupted him hastily. “Hey, Mike, you got another can of juice mix in the freezer?” He knew perfectly well where to find the can he was looking for, but needed to shut Mike up before he got out of hand.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, in the door. Hey, I gotta take a whiz. Be right back.” Mike lurched down the hallway to the bathroom, with Chet and Johnny watching him.

“Well, you’ve got a mighty happy drunk on your hands, Gage. Mighty happy,” said Chet, “and none too discreet, either.”

“Yeah, well, see above, at reason number two,” said Johnny. “I gotta keep my eye on that one when he’s had a few.” He finished reconstituting the can of frozen orange juice concentrate, and poured glasses for Ed and Marco. “Want some?” he asked Chet.

“No, thanks,” Chet replied. “If they see I’m drinking it, they might realize it’s not spiked.”

“Good point,” said Johnny. “Here, you take ‘em; I better go check on my happy drunk.”

Chet took the glasses, and Johnny went to the bathroom door and knocked. “Hey, Mike? You all right in there?” He heard retching sounds, then flushing. _Great_ , he thought. _So much for my happy drunk_. He opened the door and went in, closing and locking the door after him.

Johnny wasn’t entirely prepared for what he found. Mike was brushing his teeth and crying at the same time. Johnny really had no idea what caused this sudden shift from happy to maudlin. He just patiently waited as Mike brushed his teeth, spat in the sink, and rinsed his mouth, sniffling all the while, and not looking at Johnny.

“You’re _leaving_ , aren’t you?” Mike said to Johnny.

“Huh? No, I’m not _leaving_. I’m right here, not goin’ anywhere,” Johnny assured him.

“Oh yeah?” said Mike. “So where’s your stuff? How come your _stuff’s_ gone if you not leaving?”

 _Oh, boy._ “I just put it in the bedroom,” Johnny explained. “Chet saw my stuff in here, and figured us out. I just moved it so nobody else would know.”

Mike looked at him. “You’re not leaving?”

“Not leaving. Stayin’ put, right here.” Johnny handed Mike a cool washcloth for his face.

Mike cleaned himself up, and looked at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. “You’re not leaving,” he repeated, just to make sure.

“Nope,” said Johnny. He tossed the washcloth in the hamper. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here. Chet’s starting to pack up Marco and Ed.”

“You just put your stuff in the bedroom so people wouldn’t see,” Mike said. Apparently it was starting to sink in that Johnny was not, in fact, abandoning ship.

“Yep. Come look.” Johnny led Mike to the end of the hall, and showed him how he’d tossed his bathroom supplies on the dresser, temporarily. “See?” he said. “I put my stuff here, just for now.”

Mike took a deep breath, and let it out. “Okay. Shorry,” he said, slurring a bit. “Got all crazhy on you again.”

“You’re not crazy,” said Johnny, kissing him soundly while nobody could see. “But you are pretty toasted. C’mon, let’s go see the guys off.”

Chet convinced each other guy to have a turn in the bathroom before hitting the road. Maudlin goodbyes were said, and final admonishments about the care of Engine 51 were presented. Finally, Chet and Johnny got Marco and Ed packaged up and in the car. Mike went straight back into the house; Johnny suspected Mike was taking the first available opportunity to move those toiletries back to their spot in the bathroom.

“Good luck,” said Johnny to Chet, as he closed the last car door.

“Thanks,” said Chet. “I’ve got two of ‘em, but I think yours is farther gone. He gonna be all right?”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “He’s not actually all that far gone—it doesn’t take much to get him loosened up. We just had a quick switch from happy to sappy, though. I’ll sober him up a bit before I put him to bed, though. Good luck to you, too. See you Monday.”

Chet waved, and drove off with his charges already getting rowdy in the back seat.

Johnny went back into the house, picked up a few cups and pretzels, checked all the doors, and went to retrieve Mike. If he could get some food in him, and a couple more glasses of fluid in him, they’d both have a better morning.

He found Mike in the bathroom, staring at the replaced toiletries. “There,” Mike said. “Everything’s good again.”

“Everything was good all along,” Johnny said reasonably. “Hey, you’re probably hungry, even if you don’t know it. Can I make you some eggs or somethin’?”

“You can _do_ that?” asked Mike. “Sure! It’ll be like an early breakfast. Two a.m. breakfast. We still got any orange juice? Oooh, how ‘bout some coffee? That’ll perk me right up. ‘Cause damn.” He finally pulled his gaze away from the bathroom counter, to see Johnny smiling and shaking his head.

“C’mon, let’s get out of the bathroom,” said Johnny, leading a compliant Mike by the arm. He sat him down at the table, not entirely trusting a bar stool to keep him safe and upright.

Mike watched from the table as Johnny scrambled eggs and made toast and coffee. Johnny brought loaded plates and full mugs over to the table, and watched as Mike got started, then dug in himself.

Mike started to look a little less pale, as something other than alcohol hit his system. “Sorry,” he blurted.

“Uh, what for?” asked Johnny, around a mouthful of toast.

“You seem to always be taking care of me.”

Johnny snorted. “Well, you know me, Mike. You’ll get your turn.”

Mike blew out an alcohol-laden breath. “I hope not, love. I hope not.”

Johnny changed the subject quickly, as he could see the anxiety lobe kicking into high gear.

“You feelin’ better?” he asked.

“Yeah—I was fine till I saw your stuff gone. Well, pretty tipsy, but okay. I saw your stuff wasn’t in the bathroom, and I just freaked out. I think the anxiety lobe made me barf, not the beer. I just don’t know what gets into me sometimes.” He took another bite, and talked with his mouth full. “So Chet’s got our number, huh?”

“Uh huh. He’s cool.”

“Figured. Hippie days, and all,” said Mike, pushing away his empty plate.

“Let’s get some more coffee in you,” said Johnny, getting up to refill Mike’s mug.

“Yeah, one more cup. Then I think you’d better put this drunk to bed. Plus, I think you said you had something for me later. And it’s later.”

“Sure is, Mike. And I sure do.”

~!~!~!~

“Shit, Gage, I can’t do it—I think I’m still too drunk,” complained Mike.

“All right, you baby, just this once, I’ll handle this for you,” said Johnny. He undid the buttons of his own shirt, and tossed it aside. “Anything else you’re too drunk for?” he asked, jokingly. He already knew the answer, actually, having swiftly divested Mike of all clothing before Mike even knew what hit him.

“Nuh-uh, no way,” said Mike, fumbling a bit with Johnny’s jeans. Johnny was kind, and helped with those, too. When everything was down around his ankles, he kicked it all aside, and pulled Mike towards him, pressing the entire length of their bodies against each other.

Mike reached around and kneaded Johnny’s ass, working his hands down and inwards till his fingers met between the bottoms of the cheeks, just shy of Johnny’s balls. “Yeah, babe, been watching this ass all night, and now I finally got my hands on it.” He worked his hands up and down, fingers straying into the crack.

Johnny let Mike fondle him for a while, till Mike started to get wobbly on his feet. He toppled Mike over onto the bed, and wrestled him into the middle of it, safely away from the edges. Johnny looked down into Mike’s eyes, marveling at their liquid blueness.

“Love those eyes, Stoker. Just like the sky.”

Johnny’s mouth found Mike’s. He tasted the alcohol, but didn’t mind, now that Mike was not quite so drunk, and was back to being happy again. He rested his weight on Mike, feeling the light scratchiness of Mike’s chest hair, feeling the hardness of their cocks pressed between their bodies. He watched the blue eyes close briefly as Mike sighed out a sound of pleasure. Mike’s eyes opened again, showing rings of azure around pupils dilated by dim light and desire.

Johnny tore his gaze away from Mike’s eyes, and slowly worked his way downwards. He stopped at Mike’s nipples, teasing first one, then the other, with his tongue. He played connect the dots, planting a row of kisses down Mike’s belly, till his lips encountered the head of Mike’s cock, encircling it, his tongue circling, flicking, playing, one hand fondling Mike’s balls, the other gently kneading his perineum.

“God, Johnny … you’re … uh, shiiiit …” Johnny enjoyed hearing Mike’s words degenerate into groans and pants. As he sensed Mike was close to coming, he added one final twist to his action, gently circling Mike’s hole with a finger, while taking his cock in his mouth as far as he could. Johnny moaned at the feeling of Mike’s hands in his hair, pulling him in, and swallowed as Mike came hard, calling Johnny’s name.

Johnny slid back up to Mike’s eye level, wanting to see his face. Sure enough, those blue eyes looked back up at him, bright and strong even though only half open. Johnny’s own arousal was still intense, and he kissed Mike fiercely. Mike’s lips parted, and he groaned into Johnny’s mouth as he tasted himself on Johnny’s tongue.

Mike flipped Johnny onto his back, throwing one leg over both of Johnny’s. He propped himself up on his elbow so he could look into Johnny’s eyes, and with his free hand, reached down to Johnny’s hard, hot cock, and took it in hand.

“Damn, but you know how to take a guy for a ride,” Mike said, working Johnny’s extremely ready cock smoothly and efficiently. He let his thumb flick up and touch the drop of fluid beaded up on the tiny slit, and played his thumb around the exquisitely sensitive underside of the head. He watched Johnny’s eyes the whole time. Mike knew Johnny was close when Johnny’s hips began arching upwards to meet Mike’s hand at every stroke.

“Come on, babe, come for me,” Mike urged softly, and unnecessarily, as Johnny clutched the sheets and shouted out in ecstasy, spurting his seed across both of them. With the last of his energy, Johnny rolled himself towards Mike, and they entwined their legs and kissed deeply. Mike pulled away briefly, yanking several tissues from a box on the nightstand, and cleaned the two of them up a little, tossing the sticky tissues on the floor. He pulled Johnny closer, kissing him again, as they both started to succumb to the pull of sleep.

Mike heard Johnny mumble something.

“What’d you say, love?”

“Love you a lot, Mike,” Johnny said again. “A whole lot. Not leavin’, not ever.”

“Me too,” replied Mike, “and good. Now go to sleep,” he whispered, “’cause you’re gonna have a grumpy, hung over boyfriend to deal with in the morning.”

“Love you grumpy and hung over, too.” Johnny whispered. He pulled the sheet over both of them, and they drifted off in each other’s arms.

 **TBC**


	17. In With the New

**In With the New**

 _Two weeks later: Friday, 0645._

“I gotta go, Mike!” said Johnny. “And so do you.”

“Yep,” said Mike, “finally.”

Johnny was already in his blues, to save time. He grabbed his keys from Mike’s counter, and stood toe to toe with Mike. He snaked his hand around Mike’s neck, and kissed him gently.

“You’re more than ready,” he said. “And you’ll do great.”

“You’re right,” said Mike. “You have a safe shift, okay?”

“You bet. You too. Shit, I really gotta go, babe. Call me when you get home in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.” After one last kiss, Mike sent Johnny out the door. He picked up a box, neatly packed with everything he could possibly need in his new locker, and headed out the door himself.

Mike and Johnny had made the drive to Station 93, at this same time of day, the previous day. They didn’t go in, but just parked across the road and checked the place out. Mike had wanted to time the drive, and Johnny had wanted to have a mental picture of where Mike would be spending his shifts.

From the outside, Station 93 looked just like Station 51, except a mirror image. Mike had been glad to see that 93s was one of those new drive-through stations, with a driveway that looped around to an entrance in the back of the apparatus bay. That suited him fine. Some engineers prided themselves on their skills in backing their apparatus, but in Mike’s book, it was silly to do something tricky if you didn’t have to.

Today, though, he wouldn’t be driving; he’d be pulling a shift as a regular fireman—the engineer from 93s still had another week until he started his captaincy at a different station, even farther north in the county. On the one hand, he looked forward to learning about the quirks and tricks of his new engine from someone who new her well, but on the other hand, he didn’t want to deal with the possessiveness and clinginess that he feared he’d unleashed on poor Ed Jackson. Oh, well, he thought. Maybe Perkins, the current engineer at Station 93, wasn’t as sentimental about equipment. He doubted it, though.

After an easy 40-minute drive, going the opposite direction from the rest of the cars on the road, Stoker pulled up into the parking lot of the station at a very comfortable 0725. Fortunately, Captain Sterling had thought to send him a key to the back door, since the previous shift was apparently out on a run, and the A-shift hadn’t yet arrived. Stoker let himself in, and surveyed the new station. He was glad to have it to himself for a few minutes.

The station was laid out much like Station 51—a single-story structure with dorms for six, a two-slot apparatus bay, an office shared by all the Captains, and a spacious day room. Stoker decided to make himself at home. He put his box down on the kitchen table, and set about making a pot of coffee.

The kitchen was laid out exactly as in Station 51, except in a mirror image. That was going to take some getting used to, thought Stoker, as he turned to where the fridge should’ve been, and nearly went right out the back door instead. While the coffee was percolating, he headed to the locker room to stake a claim.

Fortunately, there were two empty lockers. Neither was in a prime location, but Stoker wasn’t picky. It was just a locker, for crying out loud. He slid his nameplate, salvaged from Station 51, into the slot on the front of the locker, and unpacked his belongings. He changed into his blues, and, just as he closed his locker, he heard someone in the kitchen.

“Well, fuck me blind!” exclaimed a strong baritone voice, lightly accented with what Stoker thought was probably a hint of the Deep South. “Someone’s gone and made coffee already.”

Stoker figured he should announce himself. He turned the corner from the locker room to the day room, trying to make some noise so as not to startle whoever was there already. He stepped into the room hesitantly.

“Aha! You must be Michael Stoker,” said the man. He was of medium height, and had a mustache that reminded Mike of Chet. In fact, the man looked like he could be Chet’s older, blonder brother. “Captain Leonard Sterling,” continued the man. “You can call me Cap, or you can call me Len, but just don’t call me ‘sir,’ and we’ll do fine. Have a seat,” he gestured to Mike. “And what do I call you, besides real damn early?”

Mike surprised himself with a complete and even slightly comical answer. “Uh, Mike. Or Stoker. Just not Michael, and we’ll do fine.”

Captain Sterling laughed a deep belly laugh. “Well, Hank didn’t tell me you were the class clown. In fact, he said you weren’t much of a talker at all. That true?”

Mike decided honesty was the best policy. “Let’s just say I’m trying to work on not being such a clam,” he said.

“Good,” said Sterling. “It ain’t healthy to be uncommunicative. Leastways that’s what I think. Good coffee, by the way. Strong, but not over the top. You havin’ some?”

“Yeah,” said Stoker. “Only had one cup at home this morning, and that was a while ago.” He had been watching when Sterling had gotten his own mug, so he got the right cabinet on the first try. “Any of these mugs private property?” he asked.

“Naw, no such thing ‘round here. Anything personal, I tell the fellas to keep it in their lockers. No misunderstandings that way,” he said.

Stoker sat back down at the table.

“Speaking of personal,” said Sterling, “you and I need to have a chat. Nobody’s around, but we could still go to my office if that suits you better. Nobody else’ll show up till two minutes before eight, though.”

“Here’s fine,” Stoker said slightly nervously.

“Well, I’ll make this quick and painless, ‘cause I see you’re gettin’ twitchy. Here’s what you need to know: Hank told me you’re gay, and that’s fine with me—entirely your business. And, he told me nobody at 51s knows, and that he didn’t know till recently. And that’s fine with me too. But here’s what else you need to know: nobody at this station, this shift or B or C, will give you any flak if you want to be out. And that’s a promise. I can understand if you won’t take me up on that promise, at least till you get to know the guys, but you do need to know it’s the truth. We’ve got the whole damned rainbow here at Station 93, and we like it that way. We’re like a family, but without the bullshit.”

Stoker’s eyebrows were trying to crawl up to his scalp. “Uh, okay, Cap. No offense, but I’ll probably hang out in the closet for a while longer, if it’s all the same to you. I guess it’s fair to say that in my personal minority, your family can still give you hell.”

“Entirely fine,” said Sterling. “Whatever makes you comfortable. I aim for a tight ship, but a comfortable one. So, anyhow, you now know what you need to know. But here’s what _I_ need to know: I read your personnel file, in detail, and it seems there’s somethin’ missing. You’ve got Hank Stanley and your mama and papa as emergency contacts. But I’m a little confused, ‘cause Hank tells me you’ve got a steady guy, and it seems he oughta be on there too.”

Mike squirmed in his chair. “Here’s the thing, Cap. Might cause him some trouble at his place of work if anyone knew about us. So, Captain Stanley knows how to reach him if, uh, something happens.”

“Okay, Mike. That’s fine. Long as you’re plannin’ on getting word to him somehow, that’s all that concerns me.”

The two men looked up from their coffee as they heard the apparatus bay doors opening.

“Ah, here comes the C-shift crew. You’ll get to meet your new engine. She’s a fine one, lemme tell you. A lovely Seagrave, just a few years old, but why don’t you go meet her in person.”

So he did. Mike spent the rest of the daytime portion of the shift getting to know his new engine, and his new shiftmates, who, as Cap had promised, arrived just before roll call. Such as it was.

Sterling wasn’t kidding when he said that Station 93 had the whole rainbow. On A-shift alone, there was a hippie Captain from Georgia; a gay guy; Washington, who was black; Velasquez, a Mexican-American, who was one of the paramedics; and that rarity of rarities in the fire service, a Chinese-American, Yang, who served as the other paramedic. Oh yeah, and the one vanilla, straight white guy was Perkins, the engineer-soon-to-be-Captain. The fellow Mike was subbing for, Armstrong, could turn out to be a green Martian, and would fit in just fine.

And the Seagrave—she was a beaut. Mike was relieved not to be driving an open-cab model anymore—that just never struck him as a good idea. He and Perkins spent over an hour just going over every detail, every quirk. Mike could see that Perkins was protective of her, but not at all reluctant to pass her along to her new protector. Mike made a mental note to himself to apologize to Ed for his possessiveness of Big Red.

The engine only had three runs all day—which they said was not all that unusual. Station 93’s district was fairly remote and sparsely populated compared to 51’s mostly urban and suburban district. But, unlike at 51s, the distances and response times to their destinations were appalling to Mike, who was used to a 5- or 10-minute ETA. The paramedics confirmed that it was a real problem in their district, especially since the nearest major trauma center, Henry Mayo, was ten miles to the south of the station, which meant transport time of over half an hour at times.

After dinner, Mike desperately wanted to talk to Johnny—tell him about everything, everyone. He realized that they could work out a scheduled time for one of them to call the other. It wouldn’t be so hot if he called 51s and Marco or Ed answered and recognized his voice. Sure, he could always pretend he was calling for Cap, and that wouldn’t be too weird. But still stupid. But, he realized, Johnny could call here, no problem. So maybe that would work out.

Lights-out came and went. Stoker lay in his bunk, thinking about all the changes he’d been through recently. All good, but all changes. He would miss the tightness of the A-shift, but he already felt like he would be able to open up more at Station 93 than he had at his old home away from home.

As Stoker lay there, not sleeping, he realized he wasn’t sure if that was because the people were different, or because he’d changed. _Probably both_ , he thought. _Probably both._

~!~!~!~

At 0420, the tones sounded, jolting Mike to alertness. Their sound felt all wrong, but that would change with time. He collided with Yang when he went the wrong way from his bunk—the dorms were also a mirror image from 51’s. The call was to a barn fire, in a rural area of the district. When they got there, the barn was fully involved, and all they could do was protect the exposures and surround and drown the fire. Mike was interested to see that the engine had to draft water from a pond—something Stoker almost never had to do in his previous fire district.

By the time they’d completed overhaul and salvaged what they could, which wasn’t much, it was already well past 0800. When they returned to the station, the clock read 0910. Mike decided to call Johnny from the station, rather than waiting till he got home. He hung his gear on his rack to dry, and headed to the dorms to use the phone.

He dialed the number at Johnny’s apartment. The phone rang, five times, six times. Mike was starting to get concerned, and didn’t notice Captain Sterling come into the room.

Finally, Johnny answered.

“ _Hello_?”

Mike could tell from Johnny’s voice that he’d been sound asleep. “Hey, it’s me. Sorry to wake you—you have a bad shift?”

“ _Yeah. All-nighter._ ”

“Shit. Sorry. I’ll show up at your place in a couple hours, okay?”

“ _Yeah, tha’s good. Hey, wait, everything good on your end_?”

“Just fine. We just had a long call; just got back to quarters a few minutes ago. Barn fire, had to draft water from a pond—but you’re sleeping. I’ll tell you later. You go back to sleep, okay?”

“’ _kay. Love you._ ”

“Love you too. See you soon.”

“ _Great._ _Bye_.” Click.

Mike hung up the phone, and, once again, went the wrong way in the dorm. This time, he yelped as he nearly collided with Len Sterling.

“Whoa, we’re gonna have to start calling you Wrong-Way Stoker! I guess 51s is a mirror image of our station, huh? All these places built around that time have the same floor plan, but some are backwards. Go figure.”

“I’ll get used to it eventually,” said Mike. “It is pretty disorienting, though. Everything’s the same, but everything’s different.”

“And you just stumbled on one of life’s great truths, Mike. And another one is, you can get the stink out of the man, but not out of the car upholstery. So why don’t you take five minutes to hit the shower before you get in your car. Truck. Whatever. You’ll only get to him five minutes later, and your man, whoever he may be, and your vehicle, whatever it might be, will thank you.”

Mike laughed. “Yeah, I guess I was kinda rushing out. Or in, actually, since everything’s backwards around here. All right, shower it is. Thanks, Cap. See ya next shift.”

“Sure thing, Stoker. Have a good day off.” Sterling watched as Mike turned around, and made his way to the locker room and shower. Sterling hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but it was sort of a public area. He’d overheard Mike asking whether the boyfriend’s shift had been bad, and Mike had used enough fireman’s lingo in his short conversation that he’d have been slightly opaque to someone who wasn’t familiar with the fire service. _One piece of the mystery boyfriend revealed_ , thought Sterling. _Either he’s a fireman too, or I’m a monkey’s uncle. And none of my nephews drag their knuckles._

~!~!~!~

It was a long drive from 93s to Gage’s place—no two ways about it. Luckily, it was late enough in the morning that rush hour had mostly subsided. Over two hours after getting out of the shower at Station 93, Mike quietly let himself in to Johnny’s apartment.

Mike and Johnny had agreed a while back that no matter how tired they were after a long shift, neither one of them wanted to sleep past noon when they had only a single day off before the next shift. It was just too hard to get to bed on time otherwise, and being tired on a day off was nothing compared to pulling a 24-hour shift on too little sleep.

Stoker checked the clock—it was nearly noon already. He started a pot of coffee, and sorted through the fridge to see if there was something he could make a real breakfast out of. Stale bread and a few eggs—perfect for french toast. He cracked the eggs, beat them with some milk, and set the pile of bread in to soak.

Mike tiptoed into the bedroom, which was silly, really, since his purpose was to wake the man up. But there were better things to wake up to than noisy feet. Mike was glad to see a pile of clothing on the floor, and that Johnny was actually under the covers. He peeled the covers up gently, to slide in next to Johnny, and was glad to smell that he’d had time to shower after the all-nighter. Soot, Mike could handle; but some of the things the paramedics got covered with tended to be a little unnerving.

Mike snuggled against Johnny, who didn’t stir in the slightest. He placed a cool hand on Johnny’s extremely warm chest—nothing. He stroked that hand up and down, gently rubbing Johnny’s bare chest and belly, and slowly, those extra-long eyelashes separated, and Johnny was awake.

“Hey,” he mumbled. His eyelids drooped again.

“Hi, love. It’s noon,” Mike said.

“No, ‘s not,” said Johnny, but he opened his eyes anyhow.

“Yeah, it is,” said Mike. He held his wristwatch up in front of Johnny’s none-too-alert face. “See?”

“All right, all right.” Johnny sat up. He flopped back down again. “Gawd, I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I see. You’ll regret it tomorrow, though, if you go back to sleep. C’mon,” he said, pulling Johnny back up again. “I made coffee, and I’ll make us some french toast for breakfast. But you gotta get up.”

“Okay, this is me, getting up.” Johnny sat up for real. “And hey, this is you, back from your first shift at the new station!” he realized. “How’d it go?”

“You know what, Johnny? It was good. It was really, really good.” Mike sat cross-legged on the bed, and watched as Johnny dressed. He told Johnny about Captain Sterling, his bluntness and his sense of humor, all delivered in Stoker’s best imitation of Sterling’s southern accent. He described the mirror image layout of the station, and the threat of the nickname Wrong-Way Stoker. He named and described all his new shiftmates, spending extra time on the paramedics.

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “I’ve heard of Yang—he’s supposed to be really good. He trained a couple years ago in the first class out of, uh, what’s the hospital up in Santa Clarita?”

“Henry Mayo, I think they called it. I got the impression the whole name is longer,” said Mike. “Can you believe, their normal ETA to the hospital is usually half an hour?”

“It’s a different world, in the rural areas,” said Johnny. “Means the paramedics have to be all that much more on top of things, to keep a patient stable for such a long transport. We’re really spoiled down here, being so close to Rampart.”

“Yeah,” said Mike, “but I’ll bet there’s things you and Roy see that they never have to deal with up there.”

“True,” said Johnny. “Gunshot wounds and forty-car highway pileups come to mind. Wouldn’t mind comparing notes with those guys sometime. Oh well,” he said, dismissing the possibility.

Johnny sat at the kitchen counter, nursing his black coffee, while Mike found a skillet and started cooking up the french toast.

“You know,” said Mike, his back to Johnny in the small kitchen, “Captain Sterling said I could be out, and nobody on the shift would think twice.”

Johnny sighed heavily. “Look, I can’t tell you that you can’t be out to your shiftmates, right? But I’m just not ready yet, myself, to be out to the whole fire department. I might feel differently if, I dunno, if one of us wasn’t in the department. And I might feel differently after a while. So let’s give it some time, okay? When you’re really at home with your new shift, ask me again.”

“Okay,” Mike said.

Johnny could see that Mike’s back muscles had gotten tense under his t-shirt. Johnny set his mug down on the counter, and went around the other side of the counter into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around Mike, hugging him from behind. “I’m not sayin’ don’t be yourself on shift. I’m just sayin’ … aw, hell, I don’t know what I’m sayin’. Obviously.”

Mike flipped the toast. He was tense in Johnny’s embrace, and didn’t like that he still had his back to Johnny. He turned the heat down under the skillet, and turned around so they were face to face.

“All right, I understand,” he said, kissing Johnny, as if to prove he meant what he said. “Case closed. It’s okay.”

“No,” Johnny said suddenly. “No. It’s _not_ okay.”

 _Uh-oh_ , thought Mike. _Here comes the big one_. So far, they’d had minor disagreements, but no real fights. At least, nothing Johnny would call a fight. But “it’s not okay” was not a good start. He backed away from Johnny, and let him go, hands at his sides.

“Go on,” Mike said neutrally.

“You have a chance to be yourself, to be who you are, with the guys you’re gonna work with for who knows how long. Take it,” said Johnny. “Take it.”

“But—” Mike started.

“No last name, no occupation, no personal details. But I’m with you, and you’re with me. You’re lucky enough to be at a station where you can be out, and you wanna be out, so take the chance.”

“But what if—” Mike started again.

“If people find out, people find out. It’s gonna happen eventually anyhow—you know it, and I know it. And I don’t want you to be Stoker the Silent at your new station. That’s not who you are. So be out. Tell them you have a boyfriend named Johnny, who lives in Carson. If they’re as tolerant as you think, well, they oughta be able to tolerate not having details. And, as for the ‘what ifs,’ we’ll see what happens.”

“You sure about this?” said Mike, not quite understanding Johnny’s sudden change of heart.

“No, but I’m sure about somethin’. And that is, if you wanna be out to the guys on your shift, then you should be.”

“No last name, no occupation, nothing that would out you right off the bat,” said Mike.

“Right. And I’m sure about somethin’ else, too,” said Johnny.

“What’s that?”

“Two things, really. One: I’m starving. And two,” he said, pulling Mike back towards him, “I love you like crazy. And that’s not gonna change, no matter who knows what.”

~!~!~!~

 _A Saturday, several weeks later_

Station 93’s A-shift had just finished washing and drying their vehicles, and was sitting down for supper. Stoker, now officially the shift’s engineer, had made his spaghetti for the first time for this crew.

“Good stuff, Stoker,” said Yang. “Gotta get your recipe, so I can have something decent to make when my wife isn’t cooking.”

“Sure,” said Mike. “I’ll write it down. It’s easy.”

“So, gentlemen, four days off. Whaddaya all have cooking?” asked Armstrong, who had turned out in fact not to be a green Martian, but a red-haired and highly competent firefighter.

“Family time tomorrow,” said Washington, “and then some good times at home when the kids are off to school on Monday.”

His plans earned some catcalls and cheers.

“Communing with nature,” said Sterling. “Heading to the hills, all on my own.”

Yang, Velasquez, and Armstrong each summarized their own plans.

“And Wrong-Way, how ‘bout you?” pressed Armstrong. “If that grin on your mug means anything, I’d say you have some good times planned.”

“Yeah,” added Washington. “Maybe even as good as mine.”

“Pretty much like yours,” Stoker admitted. “But no kids, so the ‘good times,’ as you put it, start tomorrow.”

“Sweet!” said Yang. “See, I thought you had a steady girl. Spill it, Stoker.”

Mike looked around the room at his new crew. _Now or never_ , he thought. “Actually,” he said, “I have a steady guy. His name’s John, he’s thirty, and he lives in Carson.”

Nobody batted an eye. “Thought so,” said Armstrong. “He’s the one that calls you every night at seven, isn’t he.”

“Yep,” said Mike. “That’s the one.”

“So what’s the scoop, Stoker? What’s this John do? How long you guys been together?”

“Oh, we’ve been together for long enough to know it’s the real thing. But as for the rest,” Mike shook his head. “Sorry, guys. He could have some real trouble on his plate if people knew about him. I can be out here, but he can’t be where he is.”

“Okay,” said Velasquez. “That’s understandable. Too bad, though. I, for one, would like to meet the guy.”

“Yeah, I’d love to show him off; he’s really something. But not yet,” said Mike. “Maybe not ever. Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for, Mike. But any time you wanna bring him by, we’ll be glad to show him around,” said Sterling.

“Thanks, guys.” Mike looked around the table. “Thanks. Maybe someday.”

 **TBC**


	18. Life Up North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Station 93 is a great place to work. Until it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for scene of trauma to a main character. 
> 
> 7/15/2012: I didn't originally include this scene in the story, but later felt like it was really missing. When I re-wrote the entire series, to post on another site in a rated-R format, I put this scene in, in a slightly different version. I think it makes this version of the story more complete.

**Chapter 18: Life Up North**

 

_One year later_

Washington dribbled the ball, and headed down the half-court towards the hoop. He feinted a shot at the basket, with Stoker blocking him, but then whipped around and tried a shot for real. He missed, and Yang picked up the ball and dribbled it down to the end of the court, passing it to Mike on his way back. Armstrong tried to block Mike, but Mike spun and ducked around him, taking a clear shot at the basket.

Swoosh. Yang and Stoker exchanged a high-five, which was really a mid-five for Mike and a high-five for Yang. At 5 feet 4 inches tall, he barely squeaked into the fire department. He passed the physical tests just fine, because he lifted weights to keep his strength up, but wasn't bulky either. In basketball, his forte was sneaking past blockades, and turning and moving faster than the men who were much taller and bulkier than he was. He and Stoker made a surprisingly unstoppable team, and Armstrong and Washington were feeling the heat.

“Oooh, Wrong-way's got the moves! Where'd you get them moves, Mike?” Washington panted, as he tried to block Mike from taking another shot.

The ball swooshed through the net.

“Doesn't take too many one-on-one games with Johnny to either give up completely, or get some moves.”

“Ah ha, basketball with the famous Gage might indeed teach you some moves,” Armstrong said. “He subbed at my brother's station for a while, like two years ago, and Billy said that Gage could duck and dive like he was five feet tall, but still had those six feet to hit the baskets with. So I see how you'd have to have some fine moves to keep up in that game.”

They continued their game until Armstrong and Stoker somehow got their feet tangled together, and they both went down. Armstrong popped right back up again, but Mike had landed on an outstretched arm, and sat on the ground for a moment, testing it out.

“Shit! Ow,” he complained, rubbing his wrist as he stood up.

“You okay, Mike?” Yang asked.

“Yeah,” Mike said, shaking his wrist out. “I guess. At least it's my wrist, and not my shoulder. That's the same one I popped out last year, right before I transferred up here.”

“Let's go in, and I'll take a look,” said Henry.

Mike shook his wrist out again as they entered the station, and it made a cracking sound. Once they were inside, Yang sat him at the dayroom table and inspected Stoker’s wrist, and had him move it various ways.

“Might be a minor sprain, but if you can move it like that without too much discomfort it's probably just a strain,” Henry said.

“You good for the rest of the shift, Mike? If not, tell me now, and I'll call for a sub,” Len said.

“Nah. I'm fine. It's sore, but there's nothing I can't do with it.”

Velasquez handed him a heavy cast-iron skillet from a kitchen cabinet. “Try this out for size.”

Mike hefted it with his left hand. “It's fine. Just sore. No big deal.”

“All right, if you say so, Mike,” Len said. “Be sure to let me know if it gets any worse, all right?”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

The shift was a killer—non-stop action that was unusual for their rural station. By lights out, the men were exhausted, and each in their own way prayed to the fire gods to give them an easy night.

They had it—until 0220, when they were toned out to an MVA.

“Doesn't look too bad,” Len said, as they pulled up. “One car, versus a tree. Doesn't even look like we'll have to cut that vehicle up, either. I bet we can probably pop the door with a Halligan.” He looked over at Mike, who was flexing his left wrist.

“Huh—no law enforcement's here yet. Mike, let's have you on traffic control, what with that wrist. No arguing. Armstrong, Washington, let's get that vehicle stable so Henry and Francisco can do their thing,” Len said, as the squad rolled up closer to the vehicle.

Mike got the traffic control equipment out, and threw a reflective vest on over his turnout gear. He was secretly glad of the break, since his wrist was quite sore, even though it was functional. He knew he had the steadiest hand with the extrication equipment, and that Len would swap him in if necessary, but Len was right—it didn't look like the car would need to be cut up to get the one occupant out.

Mike moved the engine to block the road right before a cross street, and headed past the accident scene to control traffic on the other end, where the ambulance would be coming from. He was surprised that their station had beaten the sheriffs; it was usually the other way around. He set up a line of flares, and with a flag and a flashlight, diverted the oncoming traffic down a cross street. The main road, where the accident had occurred, was flat and straight, but the cross road came down a hill before it crossed the main road.

Most people were civil about having to take a detour, but there were always one or two people who complained. The first was a fiftyish woman in a stylish outfit.

“Can't you just let me sneak through? I'm really in a hurry,” she said.

“No,” Mike said. _In a hurry, at two thirty a.m.? Sheesh._ “You'll have to take the detour, just like everyone else. Take a right here, then the next left, and the next left, and you'll be right back on this road in no time.”

She huffed at him, but turned down the cross street.

The sheriff's deputy pulled in shortly afterwards.

“Howdy,” said the officer. “What's the story?”

“Car versus tree. Just the one guy in the car. They got him out a minute or so ago. Ambulance should be here any second. He doesn't seem too bad, from how the paramedics are moving. No witnesses—or at least, none that stuck around,” Mike said.

“And ain't that just the way it goes,” the deputy said. “You good with the traffic, here, such as it is? I'm gonna see if I can't get a statement from this guy before the meat wagon scoops him up.”

“Sure. Looks like we're pretty much wrapped up, once he's transported.”

Mike watched as the deputy sauntered down the bank to where the victim lay strapped to the backboard.

Stoker didn't see the Buick Electra, headlights dark, careening down the hill of the cross street. Despite the toll that years of standing next to a thrumming fire pump had taken on his hearing, he did hear it, though. He whipped around to see where the engine sound was coming from. By the time he heard the screeching of the brakes, it was too late.

All the rest of 93's A-shift watched in horror as the Buick's front bumper seemed to grab Mike and lift him into the air, sending him flying up and then crashing down onto the roof of the car. Everyone was still frozen in place as he bounced onto the ground, in slow motion, like it was a scene from a movie, instead of real, horrible life.

The Buick nosedived into the ditch on the side of the main road, engine revving as the back tires spun uselessly in mid-air.

Mike lay on the pavement, face down. He'd heard, over the screeching of the brakes and the roar of the engine, a tremendous snapping sound, like someone had broken an entire tree in half, and then, right afterwards, a crunching sound, which didn't make sense to him, since he'd felt like he was flying. _How could flying make a crunching sound?_ he thought, as he lay on the pavement and tried to catch his breath.

He tried to breathe—he really did. He could hear people shouting his name, and was beginning to think maybe the snapping sound had something to do with his right leg, which was beginning to feel hot, and then oh god, it hurt, it hurt like a cannonball had lodged itself in his upper leg, and was trying to rip and burn its way through.

He tried to scream, the pain was so bad, but no sound would come out. He didn't think he had any air in his lungs. He tried to breathe again, but nothing happened, for some reason. He thought he could hear Yang's voice, from far, far away. He must be taking care of the patient on the backboard, down by the tree.

“He's not breathing!” Yang shouted. “Cap, hold his head, Ben, steady the right leg. Cap, we roll towards me on your count.”

Mike heard someone counting, and then he was suddenly flying again—or so it felt. The pain in his leg, which was already as bad as he could imagine, multiplied ten times as he was rolled onto his back. He finally sucked in a mighty breath, feeling as though his chest split open as he did so, and screamed like he'd never done in his life. And he did it again, and again, and again, and each time, the screams ripped his throat, and tore through his chest, but that was nothing, nothing, compared to the fire in his leg.

People were talking to him, shouting at him, but there was nothing he could do to help them. His world was reduced to the white-hot cannonball lodged in his right thigh, and the screaming—he couldn't help it—and the pain that slashed through his chest every time he took a breath, and every time he let it out in increasingly feeble screams. He felt hands holding his head, and hands feeling every part of his body, and hands pulling warm things away from him, and then he started to feel cold—how can you feel cold in turnout gear, in L.A. County?

He sucked in another breath, and it was somehow oddly unsatisfying—like he was putting in the same effort for half the result. He screamed again anyhow, and didn't notice that it sounded more like a whimper. Something wrapped itself around his neck, and the hands on his head disappeared. The thing holding his neck—was _it_ sucking the air out of his lungs? Something else wrapped itself around his face, covering his mouth and nose. It had cold, funny-tasting air in it, but for some reason, that air seemed to _work_ better than the real air, so he didn't try to rip it away. It wasn't as loud as an SCBA, but it had better air, so he let it be.

“… no loss of consciousness … right rib cage … femur … grossly angulated … absent breath sounds on the … ”

Those were all words Johnny would understand. Johnny would take care of him—Mike knew that. He struggled to draw another breath, the searing pain from his leg making it impossible enough without the crushing pain he felt at each frustratingly useless breath.

He heard a staticky voice this time. “… dual IVs … Ringer's … MS, ten milligrams … transport immediately …”

Shit. He hated needles. But MS was something he knew, from that other time, and it sounded like a goddamned good idea.

Mike felt something cold on his forearm, then a hot needle, which was nothing compared to the leg. He would've laughed at the needle if he could have. Then there was a metallic taste in his mouth, and the odd sensation of his mind being pulled away from his body, as the pain in his leg, his chest, stayed with his body, and his mind went somewhere else. The pain was still there—oh yes, still there, waiting like a smoldering room ready to blow with a tremendous backdraft as soon as it got some air—but it wasn't really _attached_ to him any more. He hardly noticed as the same thing happened in his other arm.

He forgot to breathe, when his mind left his body. Then he remembered again, and wished he hadn't. He breathed in, but it didn't do any good. He tried to scream, but it ended up sounding like a whimper.

Someone put their face right in front of his. He hated that. It was Yang—he ought to know better.

“Mike?” Henry said. Damn it. Right in his face.

He tried to answer, but he couldn't get enough air in to make it work. He tried to tell Henry that he couldn't breathe—or, maybe, that he couldn't _do anything_ with the air, because why would his chest hurt so much if he wasn't breathing? He tried to talk, but it didn't work. He gasped for air, feeling his chest shred itself on every futile breath. He wished he could forget to breathe again, just stop, forever, because then the pain would go away, forever.

But then he'd be leaving Johnny. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that. Wouldn't leave him alone. All right, then, it was settled. He'd try to keep breathing, for Johnny. Where was he, anyhow?

He tried to ask.

“Joh …”

They didn't understand. Something was happening down by his ankle, pulling his leg, hurting it more. His mind came back to his body for a moment, and he screamed again.

Yang, in his face again. “Mike, we're going to put a traction splint on your broken leg. It'll hurt at first, but then it should feel a little better.”

Someone was pulling on his foot, lifting it, oh god, please please please stop. The screaming came again, and he struggled against hands holding him down. The sounds of Velcro and of clicking from near his foot were drowned out by the screams, which he didn't think he had any of left, but he did.

The clicking stopped, and nobody was touching that leg any more. The cannonball was still there, burning, eating, hammering, but it was maybe a little bit smaller, and red hot rather than white hot. His screams, all on their own, decided to fade to moans.

One of the hands holding him down moved to take his left hand, and he latched on for dear life. It wasn't the _right_ hand, though—not the one he really needed. The fingers were too short, too cool, too smooth—all wrong. 

He looked at the person on the other end of the hand he was squeezing. Len. Len would know what to do. He looked him in the eye, and tried to tell him the one thing, the only thing, that really mattered.

“Joh …”

Len nodded, and it was beautiful—he understood.

“I'll call him, Mike. He'll come as soon as he can. You hold on for him, all right?”

That's what he was doing. Len understood that. Mike's eyes filled with tears at the relief of being understood.

He worked hard at breathing, feeling the knives slide into his chest over, and over, and over. Or maybe it was somebody else's chest. He felt himself retreating away, away, away from what was happening. Someone was talking to him, but they were very, very far away. He was trying to hold on, but everything was slipping away. Maybe that's why he couldn't catch his breath—the air was slipping away with the rest of the world.

He was dragged back to the world again, screaming, or perhaps whimpering, he couldn't tell any more, as hands rolled him, and pulled him, and strapped him down onto something hard. He began to dread the sound of people counting, because whenever they got to “three,” something happened that hurt him more, if that was even possible.

The voices were getting all mixed up. Everything was loud, not like the fire pump, but still too much.

“… ambulance … other guy can fucking wait, Cap … another set of hands … Ben can go with you …”

Then he was flying again. He prayed there wouldn't be a crunch this time, and there wasn't. There was a slamming sound, and two taps, and then the noise of the world was gone, replaced by the familiar, comforting thrum of a diesel engine, and the starry sky was replaced by a silver ceiling.

Things faded out, and in, and out. Hands kept _doing_ things. The wrong hands, doing the wrong things. And holy shit, he was breathing, and breathing, and the crushing pain in his rib cage was getting worse every second, but the air _wasn't working_. He couldn't breathe any faster; not with those knives in there. He didn't understand what he was doing wrong. He was trying so hard to breathe right, for Johnny, but it _wasn't working_.

“ … Squad 93 … cyanotic … tracheal deviation … respirations 40 … tension pneumo … request permission to decompress …”

“… protocol came through just in time … first time in the field … do it now, 93.”

Someone got in his face again, pulling his mind back to his body again. He didn't want to be there, especially since the face that was too close was still not Johnny, damn it. Len said he was coming, though, so Mike would just keep holding on.

“Mike, a broken rib punctured your lung, and you have some air trapped in your chest, which is causing you some problems. I'm going to get it out, with a needle in your chest, and it's going to hurt, but then you'll be able to breathe a lot better. Ben, I have to take the backboard strap off to get to the right spot, so hold him by the shoulders. Hard.”

Mike felt hands on his shoulders, holding them down, and cold on his chest, and then someone stabbed him in the chest. It didn't feel like a needle; it felt like a fucking ice pick. He screamed, or whimpered, or whatever it was, and heard a hissing sound. He tried to breathe again, and this time, somehow, something shifted in his chest, and he could feel air moving again. It was like a balloon suddenly un-popped.

He tried to scream again—not that he needed to _try_ ; it was just the thing to do. This time he managed a groan. He breathed in again, and the air seemed like it was working again. Somebody had fixed the air. The knives were still there, and the ice pick, too, but the air was doing its job again.

Yang was in his face again, damn it. “Mike? Are you breathing easier?”

Mike tried to nod. Everything moved up and down, so he thought he succeeded.

“You're in the ambulance. We're on our way to the hospital, all right? You're going to be fine—just hang on.”

Didn't they even know that's what he was doing?

**TBC**


	19. A Bump in the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanky alert! Nobody dies or breaks up, but it's tough going.

**A Bump in the Road**

_One hour later_

Hank Stanley was rudely awakened just before 0400, not by the expected sound of the station’s klaxons sending the crew out on a call, but by the sound of the dorm’s phone ringing on the desk next to his bunk. He sat up abruptly, and went to the desk. There was no good reason why anyone would be calling the station at four in the morning. No _good_ reason at all.

“L.A. County Fire Station 51, Hank Stanley speaking.”

“ _Hank, it’s Len Sterling. I’m afraid I’m calling about Mike Stoker._ ”

Hank’s heart felt like it plummeted to his feet. “Oh, no. What happened?”

“ _He was directing traffic at an MVA, and he got hit. Broke a femur and a couple of ribs. The docs_ _tell me he should be fine in time, but … Hank, he’s real bad right now. I think you oughta get hold of this John fellow, pronto._ ” For form’s sake, Sterling pretended he hadn’t already worked out that John was one of Hank’s boys.

“I’ll tell him right now. Where should I send him?”

“ _Henry Mayo Newhall hospital, in Santa Clarita.”_

“All right. I’ll let you know when he’s on his way. Are you at the station?”

“ _Yeah, we’re back, but the station’s stood down for the rest of the shift. Soon as we’re mopped up we’re all headed down to the hospital. So just send him along; you won’t be able to reach me._ ”

“Will do. Shit, Len.”

“ _Yeah_.”

Hank replaced the handset, and quietly went to the call station and got on the radio. “Dispatch, Station 51.”

“ _Go ahead, 51._ ”

“Stand down Squad 51 for the remainder of the shift. Family emergency.”

“ _10-4, 51, Squad 51 is out of service until 0800_.”

“10-4, 51 out.”

Hank returned to the dorm, dreading his task. He padded in his sock feet over to Gage’s bunk. “John, wake up,” he said, shaking Johnny lightly by the shoulder. “C’mon, Gage, you gotta wake up.”

“Huh? Cap? ‘s matter?” Johnny sat up, and paled instantly when he saw the expression on Cap’s face. “Oh, no no no no,” he said, “please, no.”

“He’s gonna be okay, John. They said he’ll be okay, but he needs you, right now.”

“Cap, I gotta go. Please, let me go. Where is he? What happened?” Johnny’s hands were shaking, and his teeth were chattering, as if he were freezing cold.

Roy heard the commotion, and woke instantly. “Cap? Johnny? What’s going on?”

“Roy, go get your civvies on; you’re taking Gage up to Henry Mayo hospital in Santa Clarita. I’ll call Joanne and let her know where you’re going.”

Roy didn’t ask questions; he figured something had happened to Stoker. He sped to the locker room, threw on his clothing, and grabbed Johnny’s civvies from his locker on the way out. Roy heard Johnny’s voice coming from Cap’s office, so he went there instead of the dorms.

Cap was standing in the doorway of the office. Johnny was on the phone at Cap’s desk.

“What happened?” Roy asked quietly.

“Mike got hit by a car at an MVA call. He’s in rough shape right now, but they think he should be fine in the long term.”

“Who’s Johnny talking to?” asked Roy.

“He’s trying to talk to someone in the emergency room, but I think they’re giving him the runaround. Roy, I hope you don’t mind taking him up there—I stood down the squad, and John’s in no shape to be driving.”

“Not at all,” said Roy. “I mean, I don’t mind at all.”

Johnny hung up the phone with a clatter, and held his head in his hands.

“God damn it!” he shouted suddenly. “It’s not supposed to be him!”

“Johnny,” said Roy.

“It’s supposed to be _me_ , Roy, not _him_.” Tears streamed down his face, as he looked back and forth, helplessly, between his captain and his partner.

“C’mon, Johnny. Get your clothes on, and Roy will take you up to the hospital,” Cap ordered, gently but firmly. “You call me when you can, okay?”

Johnny nodded, and quickly put on his clothes. He was still shaking like a leaf, so Roy grabbed Johnny’s blue uniform jacket from the locker room and handed it to him. Johnny put on the jacket, and allowed himself to be led to the parking lot.

The drive, at four a.m., took just over an hour, but seemed like forever to Johnny. He and Roy spoke not a word most of the way, until Roy took the exit off the freeway.

“I’m gonna go in with you. Just till I know they’ll let you see him,” said Roy.

“Why wouldn’t they let me see him?” asked Johnny.

“It’s not Rampart,” said Roy. “They don’t know you.”

“But why wouldn’t they let me in?”

“If he’s in the ICU, they might not let people in,” Roy said vaguely. “Let’s see what happens.”

Roy parked in the visitors’ lot, and he and Johnny went in through the main entrance.

“Can I help you?” said the woman at the desk.

“Yeah, I, uh, came to see Mike Stoker,” said Johnny. “He’s a fireman, just got brought in a couple hours ago.”

“Let me check for you,” she said. “I don’t see him on my list of admitted patients, but if he just came in, he wouldn’t be on it yet.”

Johnny and Roy listened as she called down to Emergency, and asked about Stoker’s whereabouts. She hung up the phone, after asking a few questions and writing down the answers. She looked at Johnny’s jacket, with the L.A. County Fire Department insignia. “He’s in surgery right now, but the rest of your station is waiting down in the Emergency department. You can go down to the ER and join them if you like.”

“Huh?” said Johnny.

“You _are_ from Station 93, right?” asked the woman.

“Yeah, we are,” Roy said quickly. “C’mon, Johnny. Let’s get down to the ER. Captain Sterling must be wondering what’s taking us so long.” He dragged Johnny down the hallway.

They turned the corner, and went through the large double doors that said “Emergency Department. Authorized Personnel Only.” Johnny allowed Roy to lead him confidently down the corridor to the waiting area. He plunked Johnny down in the first available chair. “Stay put, Junior. I’m gonna find out what I can.” Johnny cooperated, and sat in the chair, head buried in his hands.

Roy’s gaze immediately latched on to a group of five men, all dressed in their blues, clustered together in the waiting area. He sized them up, and quickly picked out the one he needed to talk to. “Captain Sterling?” he asked, speaking to a fortyish-looking man with a thick blond mustache.

“That’s me,” the man said. “Are you John?” He looked Roy up and down.

“No, but I brought him.” He gestured to the despondent figure, sitting alone on the other side of the room. “I’m Roy DeSoto, just a co-worker of Johnny’s. I, uh …” Roy sighed heavily. “Look, are they gonna give Johnny a hassle about seeing Mike?”

Captain Sterling shook his head. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said. “Though I don’t rightly know whether they’ll listen to me or not.”

Roy looked at the other four men. “Cap, can I talk to you in private for a minute?”

“Sure thing. ‘Scuse us, boys,” said the captain, as he pulled Roy around a corner.

“It’s like this,” said Roy. “Johnny and I are paramedics out of Station 51. He won’t cause a problem, not even in the ICU. But I’m worried about whether they’re gonna let him in. When my cousin tried to see _his_ boyfriend in the hospital a couple years back, they wouldn’t let him. They said family only. You see the problem?”

“I do,” said Captain Sterling. “Yes, I do indeed. No ring on the finger, for obvious reasons, and they also obviously aren’t blood relatives. Any suggestions?”

Roy took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket, and wrote down his name and phone number. “Here’s my number. I’ve got some connections in high places—like the medical director of the county’s paramedic program. If they don’t let Johnny in, I’ll get Dr. Brackett to go to bat for him. I hope I don’t have to, since Johnny doesn’t exactly advertise his, uh, domestic arrangements, but I’ll do it if necessary.”

“Thank you kindly, Roy. I do hope it’s unnecessary. Our paramedics might be able to help out, too. But you rest assured that we’ll take care of John as if he were one of our own. Hell, he _is_ one of our own, even if we never met him before.”

Roy sighed in relief. “Thanks, Captain Sterling. Let me, uh, let’s go talk to Johnny together, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing, Roy.”

The two men went and sat on either side of Johnny, who hadn’t looked up even once since arriving in the unfamiliar ER waiting room.

“Johnny?” Roy said.

“What’d you find out, Roy?” Johnny asked dully.

Captain Sterling spoke up. “John, I’m Len Sterling, Mike’s captain. I’m sorry to meet you like this. They’re taking good care of him. He’s in surgery right now—I think maybe my paramedics could tell you better, if you’d like to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Johnny made no move to get up, so Sterling went and fetched Yang, who had ridden in with Mike in the ambulance.

“John, this is Henry Yang. He rode in with Mike, and can fill you in better than I can about what’s going on, okay?” said Captain Sterling.

“Okay.” Johnny finally looked up. Yang had pulled a chair up in front of Johnny. Yang noted their identical jackets, and noted the paramedic insignia on Johnny’s sleeve. Johnny met Yang’s eyes, and braced himself for the news.

Yang spoke softly but clearly. “First of all, Mike’s stable and out of the woods. But he’s got an unstable fracture of the right femur, and at least four broken ribs, also on the right. He had a pneumothorax, but we decompressed it right away, and they put a chest tube in as soon as he got here, so he’s well oxygenated. There were no signs of serious internal injuries. He had no loss of consciousness, and no other signs of head injury, so we were able to help with his pain quickly. He’s in surgery now, for the femur. He’s been in there for a couple of hours, so they should be just about finished up.” Yang paused. “Am I right that you understand all that?”

“Yeah. I got it,” Johnny said, expressionlessly. He was pale and shaky, and there was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. “Roy—”

Roy didn’t have to hear the rest of what Johnny was going to say to know what was going to happen—he grabbed a wastebasket and shoved it between Johnny’s feet, just in time for Johnny to puke his guts out.

When Johnny was done with the wastebasket, Roy handed it over at the nurses’ station “Sorry,” he said, “but it’s better than the floor.”

“Can I get him anything?” the nurse asked.

“Uh, I think I’ll try to get him into the rest room to clean up,” said Roy, “so we could use some paper cups.”

The nurse handed him a few cups. “Bathroom’s right there.” She pointed across the waiting room. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Roy.

Yang was keeping an eye on Johnny, making sure he kept his head between his knees. For once in his life, Johnny wasn’t protesting anything people were trying to do for him. He just sat there, and took it. And that worried Roy—a lot.

“Johnny, I want you to come with me to the restroom, and at least rinse out your mouth, okay?”

“Okay, Roy.”

Johnny allowed himself to be led to the bathroom. He rinsed and spat, and washed his face.

“Feel any better?” Roy asked.

“Not really,” admitted Johnny. “I guess I’m kind of a wreck.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, seems like you’re entitled.”

Johnny didn’t reply.

“You ready to go back out there?” Roy asked.

“Yeah. No sense hiding in here,” said Johnny.

Roy took him back out to the waiting area. They took their seats with Yang and Sterling again, and were immediately and quietly joined by the other Station 93 firemen. Roy noted that Johnny was paler than ever, and still shaking.

“Uh, fellas, is there anywhere to get some food around here? I think he needs some protein in him,” said Roy.

“Sure,” said a stocky red-headed man. “I’ll see what I can get. Armstrong, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Roy. “Roy DeSoto.”

Everyone sat in awkward silence until Armstrong returned with two small cartons of milk and a bag of peanuts.

“Here ya go, John,” he said.

“Thanks.” Johnny chugged down the contents of both milk cartons, and the color started to return to his face. Roy noted that Johnny opened the pack of peanuts with steady hands. Johnny finished the peanuts. Roy took the trash from him and threw it out.

Johnny looked up at everyone around him. “Sorry,” he said. “I, uh, kinda lost it. That’s never happened before.”

“Lord love a duck, son, nobody here’s worried about that,” said Sterling. “Look, we’re all mighty glad to finally meet you, but it goes without saying that the circumstances could be better. So let’s all just sit together, and wait till someone comes through that door in sweaty scrubs to give us some good news, all right?”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “All right.” He looked at the crew sitting around him, and named them in turn. “You’re Yang, and you’re Washington, Velasquez, Armstrong, and Captain Sterling.”

“Well, we do make it easy to tell us apart, don’t we,” said Washington. “But that’s not bad, John. Not bad at all.”

“Call me Johnny,” he said. “That’s what everyone calls me.” He paused. “That’s what Mike calls me.”

Everyone in the waiting room looked up suddenly, as a figure in blue scrubs came through to the waiting room.

“Who’s here for Michael Stoker, please?” he asked.

Johnny stood up quickly, followed by Captain Sterling. “Mind if I join you, Johnny, or do you want to talk on your own.”

“No, you come too,” Johnny said. “Let’s go.”

The doctor looked down at his clipboard. “Uh, he’s doing fine, first of all, but who’s next of kin?” he asked, looking up at the two men.

“He is,” said Captain Sterling. “I’m just Stoker’s captain.”

“And you’re …” the doctor continued, hesitantly, looking at Johnny.

“He’s John Gage, and he’s the next of kin, and that’s final.” said the Captain. His five foot ten inch height was not nearly as impressive as Hank Stanley’s six feet four, but he got his point across quietly and with great authority. The surgeon chose not to argue.

“All right, Mr. Gage. Let’s go into my office, shall we?”

Johnny looked at Captain Sterling, who just nodded. “We’ll be out here,” he said.

Johnny followed the still-nameless surgeon into a small office.

“Have a seat,” said the surgeon. “I’m Dr. Woods, I’m an orthopedic surgeon. First, Mr. Stoker did well during the surgery—he’s a strong fellow, and hasn’t let himself get out of shape like a lot of firemen do. No offense,” he said, looking at Johnny’s jacket.

“None taken,” said Johnny. “It’s the truth. And Doc, I’m a paramedic, too, so just go on and explain, and I’ll stop you if there’s something I don’t get.”

“All right.” Dr. Woods cleared his throat. “It’s a bad fracture. The best way to repair it, and to ensure good healing, fast healing, was to put a rod through the marrow cavity of the bone, kind of spindling the pieces of bone to line them up and keep them in place. Then the ends of the rod are secured to the bone with screws. It’s not pretty on the x-ray, but it does the job, and doesn’t leave as much scarring as putting in plates.”

“Can I see the x-rays?” asked Johnny.

“Sure,” said Woods. “Here’s the ‘before’ pictures.” He jammed the x-rays into a lightbox, and turned on the backlighting.

“Oh, shit, Mikey,” whimpered Johnny, as he saw the “before” pictures. The femur was in three pieces, with the large fragment in the middle turned at forty-five degrees to the rest of the long bone. “Was it an open fracture?” he asked.

“No, fortunately. All right,” he said, taking down the grisly x-rays, noting the look on Johnny’s face. “Here’s the ‘after’ pictures.” He jammed the newer x-rays up on the lightbox. “Here, you can see the rod, and how the fragments are all lined up. You see the two screws up near the hip, and two down near the knee. The incision for inserting the rod is up here,” he pointed to a spot near the upper screws.

“Okay,” Johnny said weakly. “Pretty bad, but looks like you got him straightened out.”

“In all honesty,” said Woods, “he’ll probably have more trouble with the ribs than with the femur, recovery-wise.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “I’ve been there. Ribs are awful—hurts to breathe, but not breathing ain’t an option. But with enough morphine in you, you kinda forget to breathe anyhow.”

“Well put, Mr. Gage. Right now, Mr. Stoker is in the recovery room. After that, we’ll move him to the surgical ICU. We have him on a ventilator, just for now, because we’re going to keep him heavily sedated for a little while. You understand, there’s nothing wrong with him that’s preventing him from breathing on his own; we just find recovery goes better if we keep patients under heavy sedation for twenty-four hours or so, and take care of the breathing part for them.”

“Yeah, I know.” Johnny paused. “Look, I know he’ll be out cold and all, but can I see him in the ICU? Please?”

Dr. Woods frowned. “We don’t usually like family to see patients in the ICU. He won’t know you’re there, and sometimes people get upset by how patients look in the ICU, with all the equipment.”

“I won’t get upset. I know what to expect. And it won’t make him feel any better that I’m there, but Doc? It’ll make _me_ feel better.”

Dr. Woods looked Johnny over. “Well, then, I’ll make an exception for you. Since our business here _is_ to make people feel better, after all. I’ll tell you what: when he’s out of recovery, I’ll take you in myself. If that goes okay, I’ll leave an order for you to stay as long as you wish, with the understanding that the nursing staff will let me know if either his health _or yours_ seems to be affected.”

Johnny sighed in relief for the first time since he saw the look on Captain Stanley’s face. He realized is was only a few hours ago, but it seemed like days ago. “Okay, doc. Thanks.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a while,” he said. “You should count on it being at least another hour, so you ought to get some breakfast. The cafeteria opens at seven.” He looked at the clock. “Or, I should say, opened at seven. I’ll look for you there if I don’t see you in the waiting room, all right?”

“Thanks, doc, but I don’t think I can manage breakfast.”

Woods sighed. “Mr. Gage, your visitor status mustn’t affect his health _or yours_ , remember?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient to check on.”

Roy and the crew from Station 93 stood up as Johnny came back.

“He’s in rough shape, but I’m confident he’s in good hands,” said Johnny. “The doc’s gonna let me in the ICU in an hour or so.”

Everyone could feel the tension deflate as Johnny gave a summary of what Dr. Woods had said.

“And, I’ve been ordered to hit the cafeteria if I want to get in to see Mike.”

Roy smiled. “Sounds like the doc’s got your number, Gage. I think you’re _both_ in good hands.”

~!~!~!~

Johnny choked down some eggs, toast, and coffee, and was back in the waiting room by the time Woods came to fetch him.

“You ready to see him?” asked Dr. Woods, who’d changed out of his scrubs and into regular clothes and a white coat.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” said Johnny. “Guys, I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

Nobody had gone home. Roy was planning to wait until he was sure Johnny was being taken care of properly, and the A-shift from Station 93 planned to wait until Johnny reported back with first-hand information on Mike.

Johnny followed Dr. Woods to the elevator, and they rode silently to the fourth floor.

“I’m afraid you won’t have much privacy here,” the doctor said, as he opened the glass door of an ICU room and let Johnny through. “I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Johnny was prepared for what Mike would look like, unconscious and surrounded by tubes and equipment. He wasn’t prepared for how he’d feel, seeing Mike like that.

A chair was strategically placed on the left side of the bed, on Mike’s less injured side. Johnny sat down heavily, pulling the chair as close as he could to the bed. He took Mike’s hand, being careful of the IV tubing in his forearm, and held Mike’s cool hand in his own warm ones. He didn’t—couldn’t—say anything. He just held Mike’s hand in his own, kissed it, held it to his cheek, and cried.

After a few minutes, he wiped his face, and blew his nose. The box of tissues was obviously and kindly there for him, since Mike had no use for them. Johnny stood up, so he could reach up to Mike’s face. He smoothed Mike’s hair off his forehead, and kissed him on the cheek, carefully avoiding the ventilator tubing.

He was alive, and in time, he’d be okay.

~!~!~!~

_36 hours later_

“Mr. Gage?”

Johnny lifted his head from the side of Mike’s bed, and looked up blearily.

Hendricks, the doctor in charge of the ICU was there. “He’s starting to fight the vent, so we’re setting up to extubate. I think it would be best if you stepped out for a few minutes, while we get him more—”

“No.”

Doctor Hendricks sighed. He’d been warned by the previous shift that Gage was insistent, persistent, but also logical. But this was a situation where he had to put his foot down. “Okay, I’ll be completely straightforward with you then. Getting extubated is really unpleasant, and you don’t need to see that. And he won’t remember whether you’re there or not.”

“Doc, I don’t care _what_ I see. I’ve been where he is, and I remembered just fine. I remember the room kinda fading in, and I remember that I thought everyone was tryin’ to kill me, and there wasn’t a single face in the room I knew. And I’ve seen plenty of extubations, so I know how awful it looks. So please, I’ll stay outta the way, and I won’t freak out on you, but please, let me stay where he can see me, all right? And if you hafta throw me out, throw me out. But please, let’s just try.”

“All right. You can be at the foot of the bed. But as soon as someone says ‘out,’ you get out, no questions asked. And we won’t have time to be polite. Understood?”

“Understood. Thanks.”

 _So much for putting my foot down._ Hendricks shook his head, fetched a nurse, and gloved up.

~!~!~!~

There was static in his ears, and pain everywhere. Someone was sitting on his chest, trying to suffocate him, while someone else was choking him, somehow, from the inside. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t breathe, and he tried to get away, but he couldn’t move. Someone was shouting at him to open his eyes. Not a friend. His friends knew not to call him Michael. So he didn’t open his eyes, and he kept fighting.

~!~!~!~

“You can’t call him Michael! He won’t listen to you—just call him Mike!”

~!~!~!~

He thought he heard Johnny, saying his name. He did! He was sure of it. If Johnny was there, then it was okay. He opened his eyes. He could only see straight ahead—too much static on the sides. But straight ahead was all he needed, because there was Johnny. He would do what the voices said, because if Johnny was there, it was okay.

“We’re gonna pull the tube out of your throat, Mike. Try to cough—I know it hurts, but try.”

He coughed. It hurt. The choking feeling got worse, and then it was gone, replaced by a burning in his throat. His leg hurt. His chest hurt. He wanted to go back to sleep, but everything hurt too much. He wanted to know what happened. He could ask Johnny. Johnny would tell him.

He tried to talk, but nothing came out.

“Don’t try to talk, Mike,” said someone. Not Johnny. So he tried again. Still nothing. His wild eyes found Johnny’s.

“He just wants to know what happened. Mike, it’s me, you got hit by a car, your leg is broken, you have some broken ribs, I know it hurts real bad, but you’re gonna be fine, okay? Don’t try to talk, babe. Just rest.”

 _Okay_ , he thought. _That makes sense. I’ll just rest_. He closed his eyes again, and just let the people keep on doing whatever they were doing to him.

~!~!~!~

Johnny stayed at Mike’s feet while the nurse finished “making him comfortable,” which really meant sitting him up so he could breathe more easily, taking his vitals, and replacing an IV bag. She made some notes on his chart, and left the room.

Dr. Hendricks was checking Mike’s leg. “How are those toes looking, Mr. Gage?” he asked, partly to give Johnny something to do, and partly to open the conversational door.

“Warm and pink, doc.”

“Good. Incisions look good, everything looks good.” He looked at Johnny. “And even though you were in here against my better judgment, I think he did better with you here than he would have with you outside.”

“Yeah, well,” said Johnny, “You know the patient, but I know the person.”

“He’ll be out for a while,” said Hendricks. “I just gave him more morphine, and an anti-nausea drug that’s also a sedative. We’re monitoring his respiration carefully, but right now, it looks good. It’s getting late—do you have somewhere other than here where you can sleep tonight?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said reluctantly. “I guess I do.” The previous night, Henry Yang had insisted Johnny come home with him, and Yang had extended the offer for as long as necessary, with his wife’s full approval. They actually reminded him a lot of Roy and Joanne, but without the kids.

He had Mike’s truck—someone had brought it over from the station and given him the keys—he didn’t remember who, or when. So, he’d been able to get to and from the Yangs’ home, which was only a couple of miles from the hospital.

Johnny called the Yangs, and they were happy to have him again. So he went, and slept the sleep of the dead for twelve hours.

~!~!~!~

Johnny went straight back to the hospital the next morning. Mike had been moved to a regular room. He was sleeping when Johnny arrived, but the nurse on duty assured him that Mike had been awake and somewhat lucid, if extremely uncomfortable, once during the night.

Johnny settled in next to Mike’s bed, with his now customary arrangement of two chairs—one for the body and one for the legs. He took Mike’s hand, which was easier now, without so much equipment around. Mike seemed to be sleeping, but fitfully, frowning and clenching his hands from time to time. Whenever he did this, Johnny spoke to him quietly, and he quickly settled.

Mike woke up for real at about nine that morning, after a long period of struggling and whimpering in his sleep. He let out a hoarse moan, and Johnny was on his feet instantly.

“I’m here, you’re gonna be okay,” he said. “Are you waking up? C’mon, open those baby blues for me.”

Mike’s eyes opened slowly. His brow furrowed, and his breathing became shallow and rapid.

“What’s goin’ on, babe? Are you hurtin’ bad?”

Mike licked his lips, and tried to talk. “Really hurts,” he said hoarsely. “Can’t breathe, hurts too much ...” He couldn’t say any more, he just stared at Johnny, eyes wide with pain, and used all his energy to force himself to breathe.

Johnny pulled the cord to call the nurse. “I know it hurts like a bitch. Squeeze my hand. Hard. Every time you take a breath, just squeeze hard. Try to slow down your breathing—that’s it, attaboy, squeeze and breathe, slower, slower …”

Johnny heard the nurse come into the room, but didn’t look up. “Pain’s totally on top of him, and he’s having trouble breathing through it. You gotta do something, now,” he said. “If it’s not time for more meds, you gotta call the doc.”

“It’s okay,” said the nurse. “I can give him more, right now. He’ll probably go back to sleep.” Johnny barely noticed as the nurse practically pushed him aside to access the IV port.

Mike’s breathing got slower and deeper, and his eyes fogged over, but stayed open. His grip on Johnny’s hand loosened. He blinked heavily, and each eye shed a tear. “I’m so screwed,” he said. “What happened?”

Johnny repeated the summary of the accident, and the list of injuries and surgeries. He told Mike what day it was, and what time it was. “Is the pain any better?” he asked, finally.

“Maybe. Still there, but I don’t care any more,” he said. That sentence had taken a lot of effort, so he rested before the next one. “Didn’t know anything could hurt so bad.”

Johnny smoothed Mike’s hair off his forehead, and contorted himself to gently kiss Mike’s forehead, cheek, and lips. “I’m sorry; so sorry. I wish I could take it all from you.”

Mike’s eyelids were drooping again. “Love you,” he said, as he drifted off again.

~!~!~!~

The first week was a nightmare. As Dr. Woods had predicted, initially, the pain of the ribs and the struggle to breathe were much more of a problem than the well-repaired femur. Still, though, once Mike was aware of what was going on around him, he threw Johnny out of the room every time the nurses had to move him for any reason. It was hard enough to deal with the pain of being moved without having to see the effect his yells had on Johnny.

But each day was a little less awful than the previous one. Johnny put in for vacation for the next four weeks worth of shifts, and was touched to hear that each of the men at Stations 93 and 51 had donated a day to his “bank,” so he wouldn’t even be touching his own vacation time.

Johnny was beyond caring what other people saw. If he could have physically gotten in the narrow hospital bed to hold Mike and comfort him, he would’ve, other eyes be damned. He settled for what he could manage, which, between the ribs, the leg, and the IVs, was not much. Johnny stopped caring who saw him holding Mike’s hand, or kissing his forehead. He couldn’t have cared less when some student nurse gasped and left the room when he kissed Mike full on the lips one night before he left.

Compared to everything else that was going on, the discomfort of Marco’s first visit was nothing. Johnny decided to leave the room while Marco was visiting the first time, to spare everyone some of the awkwardness. On subsequent visits, he stayed, but kept to the other side of the room. Marco didn’t say anything of substance to him. When Johnny tried to talk to him, Marco responded with one-word answers, and wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Mike noticed. “We’re still the same two people we’ve always been. Just try to think of that,” he said out of the blue to Marco on his third visit.

“I’m trying, man. You can’t ask anything more of me than to try. But I’m trying as hard as I can, and it’s not working,” Marco replied.

“Well, then, keep trying,” said Johnny. “’Cause this is the way it’s gonna be, Marco.”

~!~!~!~

Towards the end of the first week, Roy and Joanne had come up on a weekday when Roy had the day off and the kids were in school. Mike insisted that Johnny leave for a while, and let Roy stay in the hospital room. Between Roy and Mike, Johnny was sent off with Joanne for the day. She told him to get in the car, and they drove straight north, until they were far from the hospital, and even farther from L.A.

Joanne finally stopped the car at a picnic area. “You go on,” she said. “I’ll stay here and read. Oh, and take this,” she said, handing him a knapsack containing a towel, a thermos, and some sandwiches. Johnny took it, mystified. Joanne got out her book, and sat at a picnic table, while Johnny got his bearings.

It was a beautiful place—a pine forest, with richly scented fresh air. There were widely spread out campsites along a dirt road, but nobody was there in the middle of the week. Johnny found a trail, and followed it, not caring where it led. He breathed in deeply, grateful for the lack of hospital smells. He listened to the sounds, and didn’t hear a single beep or bell, no heels clicking in the halls, no typewriters clacking rudely in the middle of the night. No moans or whimpers, no sobbing. None of the sounds, smells, or sights that had become his world over the last week.

When the trail ended after a short half mile, Johnny finally realized where Joanne had brought him. The trail ended at a beautiful natural swimming hole. This was the park where, over a year ago now, Station 51’s erstwhile A-shift had gone for a camping trip. Where Johnny and Mike had found each other, touched and kissed and loved each other, for the first time.

Johnny fell to his knees by the side of the water. The horrors of the last week poured out of him, as he grabbed and threw handfuls of stones, shouting, swearing, and sobbing, till he had nothing left. Totally drained, he stripped off his clothes, and left them in a pile on a flat rock at the edge of the water. He threw himself into the water, not caring or even noticing how cold it was, and let the cold, clear water wash away the rest of the pain.

When he couldn’t take the cold any more, he got out of the water, dried himself off, and got dressed again. He climbed up to a sunny spot at the top of the cliff—the same rock where he and Mike had sat together before they left the campground to head back to the real world. Johnny said a silent apology to the water and the sky, for having brought and dumped his mental garbage into this beautiful place.

As he finished his apology, he saw a large bird circling in the sky overhead. He looked down to the water, and saw a fish jump and splash back into the water. And on the edge of the woods, two squirrels chased each other up a tree. Seeing the creatures of the water, air, and land, Johnny knew his rage and despair hadn’t damaged the place where he’d let it all out.

He ate the sandwiches. He opened the thermos, and drank the strong, hot coffee. And, just as he had last time he sat here on this rock, he felt ready to go back to the real world. He packed everything back into the knapsack, and walked back up the trail, and found Joanne still sitting at the picnic table.

“I’m ready,” he said.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heart attacks are the number one cause of line-of-duty deaths amongst firefighters. Trauma due to vehicle accidents of some kind is the number two cause.


	20. Do Not Disturb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike has a long recovery ahead of him. It's not easy for Johnny, either.

**Do Not Disturb**

After a month in the hospital, Mike was transferred to inpatient rehabilitation at Rampart. Just before Mike started rehab, Johnny had to go back to work. Mike felt bad that he was actually a bit relieved that Johnny wouldn’t be there all the time. Rehab was hard work, really hard, and sometimes it was easier when he didn’t feel like he had to worry about Johnny as well as himself. Plus, the rehab policy was that there were no visitors allowed—none—during therapy time, unless the patient was nearly ready to go home, and the PT staff was teaching the family something they would need to know at home.

Johnny felt terrible that he was relieved to go back to work. He’d been at Mike’s side more or less constantly for the last month, and while things had gotten easier as Mike got better, it was a tremendous strain. “Real life” had literally come to a crashing halt after Mike’s accident, and nothing about their days or nights was normal. And, even though work was stressful, to Johnny, it was his real life.

The night after Mike was transferred to Rampart, Johnny slept at his apartment for the first time in weeks. He’d been there once or twice over the month Mike was at Henry Mayo, just to pick things up, drop things off, pull moldy things out of the refrigerator, and other mundane tasks. But over the last year, it had stopped feeling like home—it was really just a place to crash after a long shift. Mike and Johnny had agreed it made sense for him to keep the apartment for that reason, but in reality, they lived together at Mike’s house.

They’d had a terrible argument the first time that Mike insisted that Johnny stay home on a day off instead of hanging around Rampart while Mike was busy with his physical therapy. After grudgingly leaving the hospital that morning, Johnny had debated with himself where he would spend that day—at his apartment, which was, after all, closer to Rampart and to Station 51, or at Mike’s house. It was a very brief debate—the apartment was barren and sterile, and held nothing of Mike’s in it except a toothbrush and a change of clothes. So he spent the day at the house, doing mundane housekeeping, laundry, and other domestic tasks. It was all so _normal_ , and somehow relaxing. By the end of the day, he’d realized Mike was right—Johnny pretty much had two full-time jobs now, and needed a day every now and then where he wasn’t doing either of them. Late that afternoon, Johnny returned to Rampart at the earliest time that Mike had said would be okay for him to come back.

When he arrived at the rehab unit, he ran into Dixie, who had just popped upstairs to say hello to Mike after her shift ended. Dixie had been surprised and disappointed not to see Johnny there. She had figured out long ago that Johnny and Mike were involved, and, frankly, she was dying to see them together openly.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “The rehab nurses said Mike hardly said a word all day. And he talked to me, but really only enough not to be rude. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on.”

“I already _know_ what’s going on,” Johnny said glumly. “We had a huge fight, is what. And he was right, and I was wrong. And he probably thinks I’m really mad, and he probably thinks it’s all his fault, but I’m not, and it’s not.”

“You want to talk about it?” Dixie asked.

Johnny began to automatically dismiss this offer for help. “Nah, I can—” he stopped suddenly. “Yeah, Dix. Yeah, actually, I do.”

They walked to a small lounge area by a big window at the end of the hallway, and each took a chair.

“I, uh, guess you kinda know about me and Mike, right?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah, Johnny. I figured it out the first time I saw you together—that day when Roy had the flat tire in the squad, probably a year ago.”

“Huh,” Johnny frowned. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only to a trained and open-minded observer,” Dixie said, smiling. “I’m glad it’s worked out for you two.”

“Yeah, Dix. Me too.” Johnny cleared his throat. “So, uh, I had the day off today, and Mike made me go home,” said Johnny, “and we got into a big fight about it.”

“Go on,” Dixie said neutrally. She was pretty sure she knew what the argument had been about. If she’d seen it once, she’d seen it a hundred times.

“I was _so_ mad when he made me go—I mean, I felt like he didn’t want me around, didn’t want me to help. But then, once I was home? I realized—Dix, I’m totally fried. The last five weeks, I’ve either been at his side, in the car, or sleeping. And that’s it. So yeah, he was right—I needed to get out,” Johnny admitted. “He could see it, but I couldn’t.”

Dixie nodded. “Johnny, I think you’re right—but I also think you should be prepared that there might be more to it than that.”

Johnny frowned. “Like what? I mean, I’m gonna admit he was right—I needed a break. What else is there?”

Dixie sighed. “Johnny, this is something we see a lot when one member of a couple is suddenly thrust into the role of the caregiver. You’re aware now how burned out you’re feeling—that’s good. But there might be some things bothering him about the situation, too, that might be hard for him to acknowledge. In fact, he might not even really have totally worked out how he’s feeling. But I’ll give you my guess, for what’s it’s worth, if you want it.”

“Yeah, Dix. I want it. You always know what you’re talkin’ about, ya know.”

“Well, not _always_ ,” she laughed. “But here’s what I think—I’ve seen this happen over and over with couples. The person in the hospital—well, they certainly appreciate the help and the support of their spouse. In fact, they need it—it’s essential to know your spouse is part of the team supporting you, getting you better. But—and this is a tricky thing, Johnny—they may start to miss their ‘real’ spouse.”

Johnny furrowed his brows and tipped his head slightly. “I don’t think I’m following.”

Dixie continued. “For the patient, it can feel like the person they love, the person they spent their normal days with before the event that landed them in the hospital, is gone, and has been replaced by a person who takes care of them, worries about them, makes arrangements for them, sticks up for them, and does all sorts of things for them. And the person in the hospital misses the person they watched TV with, had dinner with, argued about petty things with, snuggled on the couch with, made love with, woke up next to, and had breakfast with. That’s their ‘real’ spouse, not this person who spends all their time at the hospital.”

Johnny sat there silently for a moment. “I guess I have kinda been a mother hen,” he admitted.

Dixie shook her head. “No, no; don’t think of it like that. He  _ needs _ your help, and your care—and he’s going to keep needing it after he comes home. And, he may not  _ like _ needing it. But he  _ also _ needs just plain Johnny.”

“Yeah, well I’m not even sure who that is anymore,” said Johnny. And when he realized what he’d said, he knew that once again, Dixie was absolutely, completely correct in her assessment of the situation. “So, Mike probably isn’t either,” he concluded.

“You got it, Johnny. That’s _exactly_ the problem.”

Johnny put his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. “All right, how do I fix this? Wait, I know, there’s no easy fix, right?”

“Afraid not, Johnny,” Dixie said gently. “But I can offer a couple of suggestions.”

Johnny nodded. “Anything. Lay it on me.”

“Try to find other people that can spend time here to help when needed. Make your visits count—do as many of those ‘real spouse’ things as you can in the hospital, and try to back off from doing the ‘maintenance’ things—that’s what the hospital staff is here for. And try to live at least _some_ of your life the way you did before he got hurt. Go to work—you’re doing that again. Spend some time at home—you started doing that today. Have a beer with Chet. Spend time with the DeSotos. Things can’t be normal for Mike now, but the more normal time _you_ get, the more the ‘real spouse’ can come back.” She paused. “Does that make any sense?”

Johnny nodded, slowly. “Yeah, it does. I think I was spending so much time taking care of him that I was forgetting just to _be_ with him.” He sighed. “And I think maybe that’s what our fight this morning was _really_ about, whether we knew it or not.”

“Yeah, Johnny, it probably was.”

They sat silently for a little while.

“Hey, Dix?”

“Yeah, Johnny?”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Any time, you know that.”

“And, uh,” he hesitated, not sure how to put this, “thanks for saying ‘spouse.’ I, um, don’t think many people see it that way.”

Dixie smiled. “But you two do. And I think a lot of your friends are starting to get it.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Maybe they are, Dix. Maybe they are.”

“And on that topic, Johnny? What I said about doing as many ‘real spouse’ things in the hospital as you can?”

Johnny blushed, but Dixie forged on ahead.

“I don’t know if you’re ready to go there, but … a simple ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign can be _very_ useful. I can tell you from personal experience, having walked in on an incredibly wide variety of … activities … that the hospital staff don’t mind a little warning. Really, they ought to sell ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs in the gift shop.”

Johnny was tomato red. “Geez, Dix.” He cleared his throat. “But, I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

~!~!~!~

Johnny stood outside Mike’s door. For the first time, he felt like he should knock before going in. So he did.

“Come on in!”

Johnny entered the room slowly. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” said Mike. He was sitting totally upright, reading a magazine. His aluminum crutches were leaned precariously against the table at the left side of the bed.

They looked at each other for a few tense seconds.

 _ Normal spouse things,  _ Johnny thought.  _ Just be normal. _

So he strode across the room, moved Mike’s crutches from the side of the bed, planted his knee solidly on the bed next to Mike’s left side, slid his arms behind Mike’s back and neck, and kissed the living daylights out of him. The magazine fell to the floor, unnoticed, as Mike pulled Johnny in as close as he could, then closer still. Johnny felt his face getting wet, and he wasn’t sure which one of them was crying, as the kiss went on, and on.

They finally parted, and stared at each other.

“God, I missed you like crazy,” said Mike, through his tears. Johnny gently took Mike’s face in his hands, and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. They both understood now that Mike didn’t mean he just missed Johnny while he was at home today.

“I love you so much,” whispered Johnny, “I just didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just, uh,” Mike pulled Johnny back towards him, wincing as his ribs protested, and kissed him again, and again. “Just be my Johnny, okay? I think he got a little lost for a while, but I really need him.” They were entwined together, Johnny half on the bed, half off. And they stayed that way for a long, long, long time.

~!~!~!~

The next day, Johnny slept in, for the first time since Mike’s accident. He didn’t feel guilty about not being at the hospital with Mike first thing in the morning—Mike had said he would be busy with PT all morning, but had agreed that Johnny could come spend the two-hour break between morning and afternoon physical therapy sessions with him.

Johnny made himself a huge breakfast—again, a first since Mike went into the hospital. On Johnny’s very first run to Rampart on his very first day back to work after Mike’s accident, Dr, Brackett had made him stand on the scale, and had given him a stern lecture about taking care of himself. Johnny had lost ten pounds, none of which he could afford to lose, during the four weeks Mike had been a patient at Henry Mayo. Brackett had given Johnny an ultimatum: put on five pounds in the next four weeks, or be pulled from work until he regained the weight.

After breakfast, Johnny thought about his conversation with Dixie the previous day, and thought about how he could do a better job of being Mike’s “real spouse” for the remainder of the time Mike was at Rampart. He wandered around the house, partly to pace, and partly to get ideas from seeing the home where they lived together. He pulled an afghan off the couch, folded it up, and set it on the dining room table. He went into the desk in the spare room, and pulled out some markers and a piece of paper, and took them into the dining room as well. He worked on the paper for a minute or two, and then on a second page, and finally took the markers back to the office. He rifled the desk until he found a roll of tape, and added that to his pile. He stopped in the bedroom, grabbed a bag out of the closet, and tossed in some items from nightstand, along with the tape from the office, and headed to the dining room added the afghan and the rest of the pile from the dining room table to the bag.

On the way to Rampart, Johnny stopped at a Chinese takeout place around the corner from Station 51, and picked up one each of his and Mike’s favorite dishes. He pulled into the visitors’ lot at Rampart. He debated stopping at the ER to give Dixie his thanks for her advice yesterday, but saw a squad and two ambulances at the back entrance, and decided just to go in the main entrance like a regular human being. He took the stairs up to the fourth floor, and entered the rehab unit.

The nurses’ station was at the center of the floor, between the inpatient rehab wing and the outpatient PT clinic.

“Hey, Judy,” Johnny called, as he passed the desk. “Morning stuff all done?”

“Should be—Mike just came through on his crutches, looking like they’d worked him pretty hard.”

“Yeah?” said Johnny. “Well, I guess that’s what it’s about, ain’t it. I’m gonna go on through, okay?”

To make the rehab unit seem less hospital-like, the staff replaced all the room numbers with slots for name cards of the rooms’ occupants. Johnny passed by Harriet, Jeffrey and Patrick, and knocked on Mike’s door.

“Come in!”

Mike was looking tired and glum, but brightened when he saw who his visitor was.

“Hey! How was your morning?” Johnny asked, setting his bags down on the empty bed. He smoothed the hair from Mike’s forehead, and leaned in for a kiss. He found himself pulled close, with such strength he nearly lost his balance. He held onto Mike until Mike let him go, and looked him over carefully.

“It sucked,” Mike said flatly. “It was hard, and embarrassing, and painful, and I don’t want to discuss it.”

“Okay,” Johnny said neutrally. “We won’t discuss it, then. ‘Cause I brought Chinese for lunch, how ‘bout that?”

“They let you?” Mike said skeptically. “They’re kinda strict about the food thing.”

“Aw, well, ‘they’ just don’t hafta know, then, do they?” Johnny got out the food containers from the first bag, and set them on the bedside table.

“Yeah? Well someone’s gonna walk in any second now with what I’m _supposed_ to eat, and she won’t be happy to see this.” Mike opened the container and sighed in delight. “Sesame chicken, mm. Maybe I can get into this before the aide shows up with the crap they call lunch.”

“I’ll bet you can,” said Johnny, opening the outside pocket of the other bag, “’cause look.” He pulled out a sign, lettered as neatly as he could manage.

I HAVE A VISITOR. PLEASE KNOCK AND WAIT. THANKS.

“Really? You think they’ll go for that?” said Mike around a mouthful of food. “Aw, man, this is awesome.”

“Yeah, really,” said Johnny. “It’s not the ICU, and it’s not _jail_ , you know.” He extricated the scotch tape from the bag. “Be right back.”

Johnny popped outside, and taped the sign over the small glass panel in the door, right at eye level. He went back into the room, and grabbed his own carton. “Scootch over, Stoker.”

“We gonna fit?” Mike started working his way over to the right side. He reached the very edge, and decided to raise up the rail, which allowed him another couple of inches of safety.

“Only one way to find out, babe. Brackett’s on my case for getting too skinny, so I won’t need much room.”

Mike got as far as he could towards the bedrail, and then some. “Ouch,” he complained, and adjusted a bit. “That’s better. I think that was one of those damned screws that’s holding me together. Here ya go—plenty of room for your skinny ass. Skinny, but perfect,” he amended. He patted the bed, and Johnny climbed in carefully.

“See? No problemo.”

“What’d you do this morning?” Mike asked around a mouthful of takeout. “Damn, this is so good.”

“Slept in—don’t know how _that_ happened. Had breakfast—real food, you’d’ve been proud. After that, just puttered around the house, really, then came over here.”

“You stayed at the house?” Mike asked in surprise. “Your place is so much closer. Not that I mind, but … “

“Well, that apartment’s just a crash pad, ya know? Not really home. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Even since, uh,” Mike gestured to his leg, “you know.”

“Especially since, ‘uh, you know,’” Johnny said emphatically.

There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Stoker?” a female voice said tentatively.

Johnny hopped out of the bed. “I’ll get it.” He opened the door, and found a timid-looking young woman holding a tray. “Thanks,” he told her. “I’ll take this off your hands.” He closed the door again, leaving the aide just standing there.

“See?” he said, settling himself back into the bed. “Once again, no problemo.”

“Yeah, but they’ll sure notice that I haven’t eaten any of that tripe when they come to take it back.”

Johnny lifted the cover. “Aw, it’s not that bad. I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Pretty much doctors’ orders, anyhow.” He plopped his nearly-empty takeout container onto the tray and started working on finishing a double lunch.

After a few more minutes, Johnny had nearly cleaned up the entire tray. Mike was slowing down with his meal. “Huh,” he said. “I used to be able to polish this off with no problem.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens after a month of hospital food,” said Johnny. “Here, gimme.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Mike. He picked up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks and held it up halfway between himself and Johnny. Johnny leaned over to delicately pluck it off the chopsticks with his teeth, chewed it up, and swallowed, never breaking eye contact with Mike.

Mike held up a piece of broccoli, closer to himself this time. Johnny carefully flipped himself over onto his side, leaning even closer. He crunched the slightly underdone broccoli, waiting to see what would happen next. As he was finishing that piece, Mike plucked the last bit from the carton—a piece of sweet red pepper—and held it delicately between his own teeth, setting chopsticks and the empty carton aside. Johnny grinned wickedly, and flipped himself again, so he was carefully straddling Mike’s left leg with both his knees. He leaned in so close this time that their noses touched, as he gently retrieved the provocatively-offered morsel. He chewed, nuzzling Mike’s face and neck the whole time.

“Carton’s empty,” Johnny whispered into Mike’s ear. “We cleaned our plates, so how ‘bout some dessert?”

“I’ve got room for that,” said Mike, rolling onto his left side and pulling Johnny down to the bed. “I really hope they read that sign,” he said.

“Hmm, hold that thought,” said Johnny. He carefully extricated himself, and showed Mike the other sign he’d made.

PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB.

There was a little smiley face at the bottom of the sign.

Mike laughed. “That oughta get their attention. You better put a chair under the doorknob, too.” He propped himself on his elbow to see what Johnny was doing.

“Consider it done.” Johnny popped out again with the roll of scotch tape. He came back in, shoved a chair in front of the door, and grabbed the afghan out of the bag. He retrieved one last item from the bag—a small bottle—and waggled it in front of Mike before jamming it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Gotta warm it up,” he said, climbing back into the bed and spreading the afghan over the two of them.

“You’re a bad, bad, boy, Gage,” said Mike. “And god damn, I sure do hope those girls out there can read. Now where were we?”

“Dessert course,” Johnny said, easing himself against Mike, looking in his eyes as he slipped an arm under Mike’s neck. Slowly, Mike slid his bad leg over Johnny’s top leg, wincing a little. “Okay?” Johnny inquired.

“Yeah. Leg’s okay. Hip is stiff. Ignore it,” said Mike, “’cause I’m gonna.”

“’kay,” said Johnny. He rolled a little, so his top leg went between Mike’s. 

“Mm,” said Mike, as he pulled Johnny’s upper body closer. Their lips met, their tongues found each other, each tasting the other’s mouth, gently and tentatively at first, but with increasing intensity as the minutes passed. 

Mike’s hands roamed, untucking Johnny’s customary flannel shirt from his jeans and finding the hot skin underneath his t-shirt. “Shit, babe, Brackett’s right,” Mike said, feeling ribs that were more pronounced than he liked, and feeling jeans that were not as tight as he was used to them feeling.

“You’ll just have to keep feeding me, then,” Johnny murmured into Mike’s neck. His hands also roamed as they pleased, and with more freedom, since Mike wore loose sweats rather than constricting jeans. He worked his hands under the elastic waistbands of both sweats and boxers, and caressed the bare skin beneath.

“You tryin’ to get me outta my britches, mister?” Mike murmured around nibbles of Johnny’s lips.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the plan.” Johnny continued with his task, with Mike helping as best he could.

“Well, whaddaya know,” Mike said breathlessly, as Johnny completed his task.

“Mm, yeah,” whispered Johnny, beginning to work on what he’d found.

“I mean, um, I’m surprised there’s, uh, action down there.”

“Feels like pretty good ‘action’ to me, Stoker.”

“Guess there’s some benefits to getting off the heavy pain meds. That stuff sure works, but the side effects are—”

“Shhh,” said Johnny. “You always talk too much.”

Mike silently agreed, and silently reached into Johnny’s back pocket and pulled out the small, now thoroughly warmed bottle he found there. Johnny silently flipped the cap open, slicked up his hands, and returned to his task.

Mike arched himself into Johnny’s grasp. He tried to stay quiet—he really did—but it just wasn’t working. “Uhn, fuck … that’s so—” he managed, before his voice was muffled by Johnny’s mouth covering his. Some whimpers escaped through Mike’s nose, but Johnny managed to keep Mike’s decibel level down by kissing him, hard, throughout the task at hand. At the very end, one low groan emerged only slightly stifled, but to no ill effect.

Mike lay panting in Johnny’s arms. Any discomfort in his ribs or leg was completely suppressed by the flood of endorphins their activities had produced.

“You’re a complete lunatic, Gage,” Mike pronounced when he was able. “And that was incredible, and oh yeah.” he added, “I’m a complete mess. No time for a shower, either—shit.”

“Hang on,” said Johnny. He stole into the bathroom, and Mike heard water running. Johnny returned with a couple of warm, damp washcloths.

Mike cleaned himself up, which he decided was less undignified, but also possibly less fun, than having help. His shirt had not escaped unscathed, so Johnny helped him out of it and handed him a new one. He looked over at Johnny, and laughed. “Looks like you better change, too, babe!”

Mike was right—it wouldn’t have done at all to walk out into the hallway with his shirt in its current state—not at all.

“Gonna hafta steal one of yours,” Johnny said, shucking his flannel and tossing it in his bag. “I guess I better bring you a bunch more tonight.” Johnny selected a neutral-looking long-sleeved t-shirt to replace his flannel, and quickly put it on.

Mike laughed. “That’s so not your style,” he said. “But who cares.”

“Nobody’ll notice,” Johnny said confidently.

“Hey, you know what that reminded me of?” Mike said suddenly.

“A certain camping trip?” Johnny asked, smiling.

“Uh huh,” said Mike. “Sure didn’t take us long to get through that to-do list we came up with for ourselves, if I recall.”

“Let’s have do-overs when you get home,” Johnny suggested.

There was a knock at the door.

“Shit!” said Johnny, as he quickly gathered up the various items of clothing that had needed replacing, and threw them into his bag.

“Just a minute!” Mike said loudly. Quietly, he said “catch!” as he tossed Johnny the bottle, which went straight back into the bag. Johnny quickly gathered up the takeout containers, threw them in the trash, pulled the chair away from the door and replaced it at the side of the bed, sitting down and putting his feet up on the bed.

“Come on in!” Mike hollered.

The door swung open, and Chet Kelly walked in, hands over his eyes. “Is it really safe to come in?” he asked. “The girl from the kitchen wants your dishes. She made me knock, honest!”

“Sure, Chet; perfectly safe,” Mike said nonchalantly.

Chet uncovered his eyes, took one look at Mike and Johnny, and burst out laughing. “Do Not Disturb,” he giggled, “with a little _smiley_ face!”

 **TBC**


	21. Take Me Home (Twice)

Take You Home With Me (Twice)

 _Ten days later_

Johnny pulled Mike’s pick-up truck into the driveway, and shut the engine off. Mike didn’t stir—he’d been asleep from the moment they got onto the expressway, thanks to the higher dose of painkillers the doctor had suggested to make the ride home easier. Johnny got out, went around to the passenger side, and opened the door. He leaned behind the seat to pull out the aluminum crutches, and leaned them against the side of the truck.

Mike’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked around. “Home,” he said. “We’re actually home.”

“Yeah. We really are.” Johnny held the crutches up. “You ready?”

“You bet. It’s funny—nothing actually seems _real_. But yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Johnny helped Mike swing his legs out of the truck and onto the ground, and steadied him as he transferred his weight onto his left foot. He was allowed to put as much weight on his right leg as he felt he could tolerate, but at the moment, that wasn’t much. With a practiced gait, he swung himself up to the front door.

“Hand me the keys, will you?” Mike asked.

Johnny would have been happy to unlock the door, but had learned that if Mike wanted to do something himself that he was really able to do, he shouldn’t argue. He handed Mike the keys, and stood back while Mike balanced on his crutches and his left foot, and unlocked and opened the door.

Mike navigated the threshold easily, and stood in the foyer.

“Uh, could you do my shoes?” he asked Johnny.

“Sure.” Johnny took the right shoe off with great care, and then looked at the left shoe. “Um, little problem.”

“Huh?” Mike looked down. “Oh, yeah, I guess you can’t exactly take that off while I’m standing in it, can you. Oh well, it won’t immediately destroy the floor if I just take it off later, will it?”

Johnny smiled. “No, probably not.”

Mike made his way to the living room. From there, he could see the kitchen and the dining area. He noticed that everything was very tidy and clean—immaculate, in fact. After some frustration on both their parts, they’d settled on a level of tidiness for the house that was midway between Johnny’s “put it where you want” philosophy of object placement and Mike’s strict “put it where it goes” philosophy. But Johnny had obviously spent a lot of time putting everything where it went, as well as cleaning.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Mike said.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to trip over any of my junk, would I?”

“You’re not _that_ bad,” laughed Mike.

“Uh, let’s put it this way—the place got a little out of hand in the last couple weeks, and I wanted your house to be nice for you today,” Johnny said sheepishly.

Mike wandered through the rest of the house, just getting his bearings. He stared at the kitchen, which was similarly tidy. The bathroom— “Did you _paint_ in here?”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda scratched up the walls when I installed the grab bars.”

Mike hadn’t actually noticed the bars—he was so used to seeing them at the hospital that they didn’t look out of place in his bathroom. “Wow. Thanks,” he said.

The second bedroom, half guest-room, half office, looked like it was occupied. Mike looked at Johnny.

“I, uh, couldn’t sleep in your room without you,” Johnny admitted. “Kinda moved in here.”

Mike went to the end of the hall, and opened the bedroom door. “ _Our_ room,” he said to Johnny. “It’s _our_ room.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said quietly. “It is again.”

Mike turned adeptly on his crutches, and kissed Johnny lightly. “And now,” he said, “I’m gonna go use _our_ bathroom, and go back to _our_ bedroom, and take a nap in _our_ bed, ‘cause I’m so damned tired I can hardly stand up anymore.”

“Do you need—” Johnny stopped himself. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

Johnny moved some things out of the spare room, and put them away in the bedroom. He heard a flush, the water running, and then the clunking of the crutches as Mike came into the bedroom. Mike leaned the crutches against the wall, laid himself down onto the bed, and sighed luxuriously.

“Good lord, that’s glorious,” he said. “It’s flat, it’s firm, it’s quiet, it’s not white, and it’s ours.”

Johnny took off Mike’s left shoe, and joined him in the bed. “And, there’s room for two.” He curled himself around Mike, who was looking up at the lazily spinning ceiling fan blades.

“Mike?” Johnny said suddenly.

“Mmm?”

“I wanna ditch the apartment.”

“Yeah?” Mike became more alert, and propped himself up on his elbow. “For real?”

“For real. See, here’s the deal—you know how when Dwyer got divorced, and his ex-wife got the house, he had to move way the hell away from the station?”

Mike nodded, having been well filled in on the goings-on at both Stations 51 and 93 during his convalescence.

“Well, he crashes in the dorms for a couple hours after an all-nighter. And Cap says that lots of guys are doing that now—nobody can afford to live in the city, and it’s not safe to drive home after an all-nighter, so the department turns a blind eye to guys crashing at the station for a couple hours after a bad shift. The on-duty shift sure ain’t usin’ the bunks. And all three Caps are cool with it. So I could do it too.”

Mike considered this. “You sure?” They’d talked about Johnny giving up the apartment before, but it always came down to having a nearby place to crash after a bad shift. Plus, Mike suspected, having a separate official address and phone number was also a factor, though they hadn’t discussed that.

“Yeah.” Johnny hesitated. “I was kinda thinking, we could get another phone line put in here—each have our own number, you know, for official business?”

Mike decided not to mention that after the last seven weeks, the fact that they pretty much lived together had become a very poorly kept secret. “Sure. That’s a good idea,” he said. “And you could get a P.O. box, for official business.”

“And I’ll pay half the taxes and utilities, which’ll be a lot less than my rent. That all sound okay to you?” Johnny asked. He was conscious that he was pretty much inviting himself to move into the house that Stoker owned.

“Best thing I’ve heard all day,” Mike said sleepily. “Even tops signing the discharge papers. C’mere,” he said, pulling Johnny’s arm over himself.

Johnny sat up briefly to put a pillow under Mike’s right knee, then snuggled up against Mike’s back, holding him close.

Mike’s leg ached, and his ribs were sore, but he didn’t care. He was held securely in the arms of his lover, as they lay in _their_ bed, in _their_ room, in _their_ house.

~!~!~!~

 _Four weeks later._

“So, what’s the verdict, Doc?” Johnny asked.

“Well, gentlemen, see for yourselves,” said Dr. Brackett. He jammed Mike’s latest and greatest x-rays into the lightbox.

With the obvious exception of a long metal rod and four screws, Mike’s femur looked good. All the pieces of bone had grown together, strong and straight. He still needed a cane to walk comfortably, but the crutches were a thing of the past.

“I have no idea what I’m looking at, here,” admitted Mike, “but from your faces it looks like good news.”

“Everything looks great, Mike,” said Brackett. “I can clear you for light duty any time.”

“That’s great, Doc. Thanks,” Mike said quietly. “I’m really going out of my mind, just sitting around.”

Brackett looked at him seriously. “But Mike, I have to tell you. You know you can’t go back to active firefighting duty with that much hardware in you, and taking it out is a really bad—”

“I don’t want to go back.”

Johnny looked up sharply. “What?”

“I said, I don’t want to go back. Look, Johnny,” Mike said, “I know we haven’t really talked about it, and I know if it were you, you’d want to do anything you could, put yourself through whatever you had to, to get back to the job. And I’d back you all the way. But it’s not you. It’s me. And I just don’t want to do it,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” said Johnny. “Okay.”

“I’ll take whatever desk job they have, till I’m really back on my feet, and then I’ll take it from there. There are plenty of things I can do within the department that will pay just fine and be interesting enough to keep me on board,” Mike continued. “And I’m sorry I haven’t really talked to you about it—I’m just so sick of thinking about anything having to do with this accident that I couldn’t stand to bring it up till I had to. Sorry.”

“Mike, it’s fine,” said Johnny. “I was just surprised, is all. It’s fine.”

“You know, you’d be perfectly justified in applying for medical retirement,” said Dr. Brackett. “I’m usually on the panel, and I can tell you right now you’d probably get it. I’ve seen guys with line-of-duty injuries a lot less serious than yours get it.”

Mike shook his head. “Thanks, Doc, but no thanks. Gotta be doing something useful, you know?”

“I do. And you will be. I’ll tell you what—today’s what, Tuesday? I’ll clear you for desk duty, but no on-duty driving, as of this coming Monday. That’ll give HQ some time to set you up with something temporary, till you work out what you really want to do. How does that sound?”

“It sounds good, Doc. Honest, I can’t wait to get out of the house.” Mike stood up, ready to leave the hospital as soon as possible.

“All right, Mike. You’re a free man,” said Dr. Brackett. He completed the return-to-work form, and signed his name and credentials in a scrawl, and handed the form to Stoker.

“Thanks, Doc,” said Mike.

“Yeah, thanks a million, Doc,” said Johnny.

“Oh, one last thing,” Dr. Brackett said.

“Sure, Doc,” said Mike, sitting down again. “What is it?”

“Not you, actually, Mike. Gage, step onto the scale, please.”

Johnny groaned. “Aw, Doc! I’m tryin’, honest!” But he complied with the request.

Brackett moved the balance weights, and sighed. “Better, Johnny, better. But you need a few more pounds. You’re still down ten pounds from the last checkup you had before Mike’s accident. I need to see five more for me not to put you on leave, and fifteen to make me happy. Mike, see what you can do with him, huh?”

Mike looked at Johnny seriously. “Between-meals Breakfast of Champions, extra large, coming right up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Johnny. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

~!~!~!~

In the truck, Mike rubbed his hands with glee. “Back to work! I’m going back to work! I don’t care what they make me do, but I’m gonna be _doing_ something! Hey, let’s stop at HQ and drop off this form, so they can start working on something for me.”

Johnny smiled at Mike’s happiness. “Sure, why not? It’s hardly out of the way, and it’s only ten o’clock.”

They drove on for a couple minutes.

“Hey, lookee there,” said Mike. “McDonald’s drive-through. I think one of us needs a large order of fries. C’mon, Gage, you heard the doc.”

“Geez, Mike; I can’t eat fries while I’m driving!”

“Okay, then; we’ll stop.”

Johnny knew better than to argue with Mike about this. “Okay.”

They got Johnny’s fries, and a shake, as long as they were there, and sat down in a booth.

“I’m not mad, you know,” Johnny said suddenly.

“Mad?”

“About you not wanting to go back to active firefighting duty. It just took me by surprise, I guess.”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Sorry about that—I didn’t mean to blindside you; I really didn’t. I just honest to goodness couldn’t stand to think or talk about what was gonna be next.”

Johnny worked on his shake a bit. “You talk to Cap’n Sterling yet?”

“I, uh, talked to him yesterday, just to tell him I was seeing Brackett today. I don’t think he’ll be surprised,” Mike said.

“He’s a good guy,” said Johnny. “He’s pretty perceptive, too. He probably knows already.”

“Hmph. Yeah, I wouldn’t bet against you on that one.”

“All right,” said Johnny, crumpling his cup, “milkshake and fries, down the hatch. Let’s hit HQ.”

~!~!~!~

Johnny waited in the truck while Mike went inside to drop off the form at the department headquarters. He was keenly aware of the fact that Mike was in a risky position—someone at HQ must have heard by now about their relationship, right at a time when Mike was going to have to find a new path within the department. He didn’t think it would help Mike any to have his boyfriend tagging along on his errand.

Mike returned shortly. “Mission accomplished,” he said, climbing into the passenger’s seat and closing the door.

“Great! So, where to? What now? We’ve got most of a day to work with here.”

Mike looked at Johnny seriously. “Well, I did have one thought occur to me, but I’m not so sure what you’ll think of this one.”

“Try me,” Johnny suggested.

“Yes, that’s part of the plan, for sure,” laughed Mike.

“What? What’s your big plan?”

“I was thinking,” he said, “we could go back home, and strip each other down, and we could leave a trail of clothing from the front door to the bedroom, and then, once you were totally naked, I could touch every single square inch of your gorgeous skin.”

Johnny listened, glad he hadn’t yet started driving.

“And when I’m done with that, I thought I could make sure you were totally ready for a good old-fashioned blow job. Then, once your mind and body are totally blown, I could feed you ice cream in bed—doctor’s orders, you know. And we might get pretty messy, but that would be okay, because we could clean each other up. And then, if you felt like it, you could have your way with me. And then we could have lunch.” Mike concluded.

Johnny was thrilled to hear Mike’s speech—that in-charge aspect of Mike’s personality had been absent since the accident, and Johnny had really been missing it.

“How’s that grab you, Gage?” Mike asked.

“More like _where_ does that grab me,” Johnny pretended to complain. “I’d show ya, if we weren’t in the parking lot of HQ. But yeah, babe, that grabs me real good.”

“Good,” Mike said smugly. “Let’s go home.”

~!~!~!~

Later that afternoon, after Mike’s entire plan had come to fruition, Johnny found Mike rifling through the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Johnny asked curiously.

“This.” Mike held up what looked like a piece of cardboard that had been shoddily cut from a six-pack carrier.

“Huh? A beer logo?” Johnny stared at the object—it looked like it had been cut with a knife, not even with scissors.

“Nope. Look at the other side.” Mike handed the rectangle to Johnny.

Johnny flipped the paperboard rectangle over to see what was on the other side. He smiled as he read aloud: “’Number one: turn the light on, and get a better look at every last bit of you.’ Man, I didn’t know you wrote these all down!” He scanned down the list, commenting as he remembered some of the items. “Oh, yeah, _that_ was a good one.”

“And number fourteen—can you believe we actually _did_ that?” Mike said, laughing.

“Yeah, well, that’s gonna be a pretty tricky one to repeat,” said Johnny, “unless we get _another_ opportunity to deliver one of the county’s old engines to a volunteer department. Man,” he repeated, grinning, “I can’t believe you actually wrote this all down.”

“Yep—never left my pocket, the whole trip.” Mike paused, and looked back at Johnny slyly. “So, which one was your favorite?”

**THE END**

(But wait! Actually, there’s an epilogue coming too.)


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Mike Stoker stood in front of the mirror over his dresser and finished the knot in his tie. He put on his jacket, looked over the rest of his fire department dress uniform, and silently pronounced the overall effect to be satisfactory for a day in court.

Today’s trial would be the first arson case where Mike had been the chief investigator. He would be a key witness, and his testimony could make or break the prosecution’s case against a serial arsonist whose crimes—alleged crimes, Stoker reminded himself—had caused grave property damage, and, eventually, the serious injury of a firefighter at one of the scenes.

While inspecting his reflection in the mirror, Mike did some reflecting of his own. While he wouldn’t have asked for the accident that left him unable to go back to active firefighting, he found he didn’t miss the work as much as he’d thought he would. In fact, now that he was a fully-fledged arson investigator for Los Angeles County, he didn’t miss his previous work at all. He’d found the perfect career—one that required superb attention to detail, keen visual skills, and painstaking piecing together of shards of evidence into a cohesive and convincing case. He’d surprised himself and all of his past co-workers in turning out to be a natural and polished courtroom speaker, who could deliver complex expert testimony in the courtroom without batting an eye, and could keep the jury with him the whole time.

The trial today came nearly three years to the day after a car had hit him while he was directing traffic at an accident scene. The impact had left him shattered, body and spirit, for nearly three months, and on light desk duty for another three months. When he was fully recovered—or, at least, as recovered as he would ever be—he dove head first into completing the arson investigator certification he’d started several years before, at around the time he’d turned thirty and had started thinking about what would be next for him within the department. He knew he didn’t want to be the captain of a shift, not at any station. He’d leave that kind of work for people like Johnny—people who could talk to anyone, about anything, any time.

At the thought of Johnny, Mike’s right hand automatically found his left one, and he spun the wide gold band on his ring finger. Two months after Mike’s return home from the hospital, he and Johnny had put rings on each other’s fingers in a very small, very private gathering at their house. They knew their vows meant nothing to the State of California—not yet, at least—but everything to themselves.

“Wow, Stoker. Way to look imposing.” Johnny stealthily appeared out of nowhere—or more likely, out of the shower, since he was wearing nothing but a towel. “And hot. Can’t forget hot.”

“No, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Mike intoned, “I submit to you that a towel is _much_ hotter than a dress uniform. Especially when said towel is worn by one John Gage.”

Johnny laughed, and pulled his well-dressed companion towards him. He kissed Mike on the lips, and then backed away slightly.

“Knock ‘em dead, Mike,” he said seriously. “Nail that bastard to the wall.”

“I will,” said Mike. He grabbed his hat, and tucked it under his arm. He kissed Johnny once more on his way out the door. “I will.”

And he did.

 **THE END.**


End file.
